


As With Summer, so the Sun Wanes

by IttyBittyTeapot (LittleSeedofDarkness)



Series: Seasons [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, Tea, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-20 23:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSeedofDarkness/pseuds/IttyBittyTeapot
Summary: Resolute in his decision to infiltrate Liberio, a tormented Eren tries to savor what may be the last summer he will spend with Levi.[Prequel to Winter Comes Quiet - may stand alone][Written for Ereri Mini Bang 2019]





	1. The Willow

**Author's Note:**

> **If you are not reading this work on AO3 nor from a download you obtained from AO3 for your own personal use, it is an unauthorized copy, or you are accessing it from an unauthorized application.**
> 
> As usual, I have pre-reading ramblings.
> 
> First thing, this is a prequel. I had a feeling during the last weeks of proofreading [Winter Comes Quiet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200132/chapters/43053125) they weren't done with the verse for good, and they proved me correct the day after it was posted. Eren saw there was an event, spoke up, said he had a story to tell, and I indulged him. 
> 
> I've ordered this as part one of the series based on the chronological order, but both works can stand alone, or be read in either order. I can't suggest which order is better. 
> 
> As you have hopefully noticed in the summary, this was written for the Ereri Events Spring Mini Bang, which means there is accompanying artwork! I was absolutely blessed to be paired with [GlaucidiumPasserinum](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/). She not only chose wonderful scenes and created beautiful paintings, but she was so much fun to work with on this and became an amazing friend. The artwork illustrates scenes from Chapters 1 and 7 and can be viewed [here](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/post/185975577468/wishes-and-sorrow) and [here](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/post/185975579158/broken-and-bloodied). I can't thank her enough for being so great to partner with and putting so much love and hard work into her gorgeous creations. In addition, [GlaucidiumPasserinum](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/) also created this beautiful [piece](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/post/188785963148/flower-crowns) for the verse as a birthday gift to me. 
> 
> I, of course, must thank [sugarplumsenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarplumsenpai/pseuds/sugarplumsenpai) and send her big giant hugs for betaing this and being a wonderful and brilliant friend. Not only just betaing, but being down in the writing bubble with me and so supportive. And all while working on her own beautiful [creation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394971/chapters/46153363) for the event. There is no fucking way I would have made it through this writing experience without her and having her to share all the aches and pains and joy of writing with. On top of all her support, hugs, sobbing and laughing with me, poking, helping me remember how to work with Eren, and gentle nudging when I needed it, her sparkles are there too, once again tangling so well with my own words. 
> 
> Finally, I want to say thank you to [Ereri Events](https://ererievents.tumblr.com/) for hosting the event and all their work putting everything together. :)
> 
> And now that I'm done, welcome to Eren's story ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epigraph -
> 
> “Judgments, judgments of value, concerning life, for it or against it, can, in the end, never be true: they have value only as symptoms, they are worthy of consideration only as symptoms; in themselves such judgments are stupidities. One must by all means stretch out one’s fingers and make the attempt to grasp this amazing finesse, _that the value of life cannot be estimated._ ”  
> — Friedrich Nietzsche, _Twilight of the Idols_

Summer is Eren’s most cherished time of year. The best day is the first. 

   When spring heats and evolves, the landscape explodes, and everything is suddenly greener and brighter and more vibrant. As though yesterday, the world was still lazing in bed half asleep, listening to the far away sounds of the tea kettle whistling and the shuffling of drowsy feet. 

   But then, the sun whispers to the flowers, clouds, and insects it is time to awaken; the hour is late. 

   And now is the hour for retreat, and retreat Eren did, to one of his most treasured spots to be. No one else visits the natural garth of stillness and silent sound except him and Levi.

   He’s lounging under the willow; their favorite tree, patches of sunlight slipping between its swaying branches and young leaves, painting warm spots on his arms and face. Here, the air is fresher. The bees kinder. The willow’s roots cradle him with rough affinity, and the trunk against his back is stout and sturdy. It smells like peace and comfort and solace and childhood. 

   He closes his eyes, opens his ears, and soaks up the lilting tunes of the birds above, their kin soaring from tree to tree, and those hiding amongst the weeds and brush. Levi’s taking his time today, but like this, Eren can and will wait as patiently as he’s able. With reeds of grass like soft, bendable blades pricking against his callousless palms. 

   It’s gorgeous. Eren could loaf here all day, but his legs are restless, his eyelids fight against him, attempting to open, and there’s a pull beneath his ribs. He looks in the direction of HQ, dragging his gaze down the worn path carved from their steps, and huffs, wishing Levi would hurry. 

   He imagines him walking with his late afternoon limp through grass long enough to cover the ankles of his boots. The casual tug at his cravat as he draws ever closer. The relaxed slump of his shoulders. The wind in his perfect inky hair. 

   Tilting his head, Eren notes the sun’s location and chews on his lip. There’s a half-healed rough spot there. He left it on purpose, willing the catch of skin to remain. Levi clicked his tongue at him last week and told him it was becoming a bad habit. To compromise, he allowed the open crack to knit itself back together, though not fully mend. 

   His teeth dig in like a spade in wet soil.

   The distant droning chatter of free time washes over him; someone squealing, another hollering, Armin’s laugh, Sasha’s screech. A cold twisty stab spins in his stomach like a child’s top and spreads, chilling his warm fingers. Eren melts deeper into the grass, half wishing it might swallow him whole. 

   This may be his last season to be Eren Jäger. His final months to smile, and marvel at the sounds of nature, the grin on a loved one’s face, or the touch of Levi’s hand. 

   He’ll depart on the eve of autumn and travel across the sea, stripping himself of everything but a grain of _him_. Leaving his friends and family and Levi behind to save them.  

   He might be able to stop it. They may see victory, but if the world retaliates, everything will change.

   A shiver takes him, and he sinks lower, seeking the warmth of the earth. He’s about to turn the tide, and he’s not too daft to realize what he’s doing; he’s distancing himself, and other than Levi, no one will come here. As though it were tainted or too sacred. Which, Eren isn’t sure.

   Eren grumbles impatiently, tears out handfuls of grass, then crosses his arms, shuts out the sun, and goes back to pretending he’s asleep.

   He can see Levi in the darkness of his mind. Hanji is probably talking his ear off. He can hear him ‘tch-ing.’ Can envision his expression, the way his left brow twitches when he tries not to roll his eyes. Levi circling his shoulders and lounging back in that beaten brown corduroy chair in her office across from her desk with his right ankle propped on his left knee. 

   Eren shoos a fly from his cheek—or maybe, it was a ladybug—and groans. Time crawls when Levi takes forever. Similar to when Eren peers with his eye inches from the sandglass waiting for tea to brew, sure he can pick out each grain as it slips through and one minute slows and stretches into a thousand. 

   One grain of sand … if he’s lucky, four more first-days-of-summer … 

   His bare toes paw at the soft dandelions beneath them until the golden petals are scrunched and plastered to his skin; sticking and stuck. He tugs at dewy yellow weeds and tries not to think about his days running out. 

   

Something pokes at Eren’s toe, and he forces himself not to smirk.

   “I know you’re awake.”

   “I knew you were coming.” Eren felt Levi before he heard his steps. He can smell his aftershave and his soap, and leather and tea, and all the good Levi-things as he settles next to him and elbows his arm. Eren opens his eyes. “Where were you? With Hanji?”

   “Who the fuck else would keep me that long?” Levi holds out an offering. A square package wrapped in egg-brown waxed parchment. “You’re hungry. Eat.”

   “What is it?”

   “Sandwiches,” Levi says, lips curling when Eren snatches it. “Cheese and apple.”

   His stomach rumbles, cheeks flushing with warmth when Levi glances at his belly. He’s already starving, and dinner isn’t for two more hours. He shouldn’t have skipped lunch and told Sasha to take his share, but he won’t say anything to Levi about that. It will make his brow furrow into his worry-frown, which is Eren’s least favorite of the menagerie of Levi’s frowns. It never fails to make his chest hurt and the inside of his cheek catch between his teeth. 

   “Did you make them?” Eren asks, digging into the package with a carelessness that brings out one of his most loved Levi-expressions. He smiles at his narrowed, yet glinting eyes then brushes his thumb over Levi’s hand where it sits between them. 

   It’s almost too small a movement to notice, but Eren feels Levi’s fingertip stretch to his palm. It’s so soft and gentle, almost not there at all. There’s never a time when it doesn’t make him wonder if Levi’s kisses would be as feathery and light.  

   “They had no apples in the mess,” Levi says as the contact dwindles, then fades to almost nothing with a quirk of his head as their eyes meet. “I went to my room.”

   Shoulders slumping as the icy pang of loss settles in the tips of his fingers, Eren focuses on eating instead of lamenting the physical boundary it is too late to push.  

   It’s unspoken, but holding hands seems forbidden except when they’re in the privacy of either of their quarters. 

   “Thanks.” Nearing the point where it aches, Eren pulls his hand back. 

   Levi stares at Eren. Scrutinizing him, brows raised in a silent question he hasn’t yet asked. “You skipped lunch.”

   Staring at his little sandwich, Eren chews his lip. Levi’s probably going to tell him to stop. “I didn’t want to deal with everyone’s bullshit. It’s all they’d want to talk about.”

   “They’re bored.” Levi reaches up to swipe at a willow branch. “The only excitement they have is gossip about stable shenanigans.”

   Wrinkling his nose, Eren recalls two evenings before. Strolling with Levi to the stables to give Vaka and Eurus sugar cubes and finding three people in various states of undress on a bale of hay doing Maria knows what. Levi tossed the mouthiest one out on his bare arse before chasing the other male and female recruit off. Then he spent the better part of an hour muttering, _disgusting, like fucking rabbits, never heard of a handkerchief, I think she was on the rag_ while frowning as he investigated, certain the entire stable had been _tainted with filthy jism._  

   Eren shivers and shakes away the images. “They’re addicted to gossip.”

   “They’ll want a detailed description.”

   “I didn’t catch much, but it was more than I ever wanted to see,” Eren says, scratching his wrist. “There was an arse and lots of skin.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe two naked arses.”

   “There were two naked arses,” Levi says, “and two dicks, four balls. A pussy too and a set of tits.”

   “Gross.”

   “The one set was a bit too hairy.”

   “The tits?” Eren asks.

   “Idiot.” Levi rolls his eyes but huffs out a little wheeze. “They might have been hairy too.”

   Eren laughs. “That’s repulsive.”

   “I’ve seen worse.” Levi’s toes tap the side of Eren’s calf. “Hanji wouldn’t shut up about it. Asked me to illustrate the scene.”

   Not surprising, but Levi can’t draw for shit.

   “Is that what took you so long?” Eren asks and then takes a bite. Setting free his momentary worries and the lingering disgust, he groans at the juicy-sweet apples contrasting with the sharp cheese. 

   Levi reaches into his bag. “I told her to fuck off.” he says, adding, “Oolong,” and hands over his flask. 

   Eren smiles. It’s not really for tea. It’s made for whiskey, but of course, Levi doesn’t use it for that. This is far better. It’s bound with sturdy, yet supple leather, embossed with simple scrolling encircling the top and base, and its color is a warm brown which reminds Eren of chestnuts. It doesn’t hold much, but it’s the perfect amount for them; two servings of fragrant, flowery, flawlessly brewed tea. 

   “Thanks.” Eren wipes the sweat from his forehead. “Two hours stuck talking to Hanji about dicks …”  

   “Mostly that,” Levi says, frowning. His teeth drag across his bottom lip. “We also decided to take you off infrastructure.”

   Eren frowns. “Why?” he asks, and then sips, fingers clenching around the flask as his thumb searches for the texture beneath it. “We’re almost done. I want to help.”

   “So we are,” Levi says, “but it’ll be complete in a month even without you.” Levi puts his hand back out for the tea, takes a swig, and sighs. “You need a break. We’re on stable duty for the summer.”

   Eren shrugs. He doesn’t enjoy breaking his back in the blazing sun so much in his human form, but his titan has sped the process by years. Then again, stable duty with Levi makes his heartbeat feel like it’s on his skin, and his lips pull until his cheeks hurt. Sure, they’ll be mucking the stalls, but shoveling shit isn’t so awful with Levi for company. “Which stable?” Eren asks.

   “Two,” Levi says, eyes twinkling as much as Levi’s eyes can twinkle.

   An entire summer with Levi in the solitude of the stables, with their horses, Vaka and Eurus. Eren tries to hold his grin, but it fades, and his sandwich falls to the crisp vellum in his lap as a gentle woe surrounds his heart. The truth sits dark and malignant like a shadow in his mind. An impending ache that’s beginning to tear. 

   His last peaceful summer. 

   He shrugs when Levi tilts his head in an unsaid question. “It’s perfect,” Eren says, knowing it sounds hollow as soon as it leaves his mouth. He swallows, has another bite of a sandwich which tastes like halcyon ease and everything he’ll soon leave behind, and chews through a tightening jaw.

   Levi’s looking at him funny. As if he can see the storm looming in Eren’s chest. There’s a crease in his brow, and his lips are a tight thin line. He doesn’t blink when the breeze blows, parting the branches, and sun speckles flit over his face, shining in his eyes. “You look like you’re holding in gas.”

   Eren scoffs. “I do not.”

   “Bullshit, you do.” Leaning closer, Levi rests his shoulder against Eren’s arm, though his brows are raised in a dichotomously silent, _tell me._

Levi’s scent is something he will miss almost as much as he will miss Levi when he leaves. He inhales it until his lungs burn and then closes his eyes. “Really, it’s nothing.”

  “Mm. You’ve been restless this week.” Levi’s knuckles brush the side of Eren’s leg as he hands over the tea. “You’re working yourself too hard.”

   “No, it’s not the training, I swear,” he says, rubbing his forehead, recalling his empty bed and a needling dismalness at pre-slumber thoughts of his infiltration plans. He pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well.” 

   How he hates the deflection and lying. He despises lying to all of them, but with Levi, it’s an unabating wave of anguish. Like a storm driving the tide into a shore he can’t crawl fast enough from. 

   He could tell him …  

_At the end of the summer, I have to leave for Liberio. I’ll have to be heartless and cruel and murderous, and I don’t want you to see me like that._

   Levi would probably punch him in the face and throw him into a wall, but that’s not what keeps Eren’s secret trapped behind his lips.

    _You can’t come with me. I have to protect you from me._

   Levi huffs. “Nightmares?” he asks, seeming reluctantly placated. “You’ve been tossing and turning. Screwing up the sheets.”

   “I always have nightmares.”

   “Migraines then?”

   “No, I would’ve told you,” Eren says, and then shifts the subject before Levi can fret too much. “We start tomorrow?”

   “Before the arse-crack of dawn,” Levi says in a cadence only an insomniac can possess in the face of giving up two or three precious hours of darkness. 

   Halting a grumble, Eren glares. It’s a challenge to maintain as he watches Levi finally bite his sandwich. How his small, slender fingers wrap around the bread. How the muscles in his jaw work with each chew. How his Adam’s apple bobs in his pale throat when he swallows. Eren wishes the circumstances were different and he could kiss him right there. The skin looks even softer than it is where he puts his lips on his nape when they sleep. 

   He bites his lip when he notices soft pink on Levi’s cheeks before he side-eyes him and tells him to finish his “fucking sandwich.”

   “Right.” With a warm tickle of contentment breaking through the melancholy, Eren smirks to himself and goes back to his snack. 

   Levi made it for him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is both welcomed and appreciated.


	2. Closer

They skip the mess, and Levi steers them on a detour to buy fish before they head to the barracks. He fries it with small potatoes, tarragon, and onion. One of Eren’s favorite of Levi’s summer dishes. 

   Belly full, and worries settled, Eren smiles, and then takes the last dry dish from Levi and stows it away.

   “I think tomorrow it’s back to sandwiches.” Levi frowns at the stove and wipes his brow. “Fuck this heat.”

   “Cheese and ham?” Eren asks.

   “Whatever doesn’t require the stove.”

   It’s still sunny and stifling, but the air is cooler in Levi’s quarters in summer. Always. Warmer in winter too. Perfect. And it smells cleaner. Fresher. Like their morning Assam, and toast with butter and blackberry jam. Eren can see Levi’s bed through his open bedroom door. The pure white sheets look so crisp and cold too, as though lying on them would feel like dipping himself in a refreshing river.

   Eren missed Levi’s rooms last night and spent the solitary hours tossing and turning in his bed alone, feeling homesick. 

   His own room is like sleeping in a place he doesn’t belong. It’s empty and stale, and it never smells quite right. His sheets are scratchy. His blanket too stiff. His mattress is creaky. The pillows are riddled with scree-like lumps. And the walls are so pitilessly dark, he swears the ceiling glares at him with predatory famishment when he lies down. As if it planned to gobble him up. 

   Worse, yet … in Eren’s bed, Levi never slumbers next to him. 

   Still, Eren’s dreary, unwelcome quarters are preferable to slowing Levi down and making one paperwork night morph into two. And they’re running out of time.

   Stretching, Eren turns toward the open window, inhaling a deep breath of the jasmine-scented breeze. _Yes,_ he thinks as Levi’s quarters settle upon him, _so much better here._

   Home. 

   Unlike Levi, Eren doesn’t have two mismatched red leather armchairs watching over his hearth. He doesn’t have a little round stand with a chess set on it either. And he doesn’t have six kinds of tea lined in perfect order in his cupboard, nor a collection of teacups. 

   As in Eren’s room, the walls in Levi’s quarters are adorned in knotty, dark panels, but here they don’t feel like inquisitive eyes judging him. Though it’s not much larger, Levi’s kitchenette isn’t small and cramped, and there’s room to hang the knives, cooking utensils, and Levi’s humble collection of pots and pans. And no matter how much Eren cleans and dusts and scrubs, it always feels cleaner here.  

   “We smell,” Levi says, and Eren abandons his musings and sniffs at his armpits.

   “A little.”

   “Mm,” Levi hums. He’s unbuttoning his shirt, and Eren knows what he’s thinking. 

   Eren grins. “The citrus stuff …” 

   “The rosemary too.” Circling his right shoulder, Levi massages the back of his neck and leaves for the bathroom. “That chair in Hanji’s office is shit.”

   Levi doesn’t say he’s aching, but Eren knows, and even with his own share of pain and sore muscles, he’ll make an attempt to tend to Levi first. 

   Of course, it will fail. Levi will lean back in the tub and point his finger in front of him for Eren to sit … still, it’s worth a try, if only to see Levi’s affectionate scowl and to listen to him grouse. 

* * *

Clean and cooled and thoroughly scrubbed, Eren catches Levi’s reflection in the mirror as he combs his wet hair. Levi’s drying off, but Eren … he thinks Levi was watching. 

   Eren blinks. Levi was. He still is, his gaze drawing a line down Eren’s bare body, from his shoulders, pausing at his lower back, then sliding to his feet, and all the way back up. Their eyes haven’t met, but Levi’s expression looks how Eren imagines his own does when he sees Levi unclothed. Even simply shirtless. There’s longing in his glance Eren swears as the hairs on his skin rise and warmth blooms in his chest then washes down and swells. 

   Levi’s beholding him. 

   He pinches his eyes shut, trying to banish the arousal. It doesn’t help. When he opens them, Levi is hanging his towel, but he’s slightly hard as he leaves the bathroom. Eren frowns. His heart knocks. He thought Levi wasn’t interested in that. 

   Levi likes to twine their hands together, he likes to hold Eren when they sleep and be held in return, and Levi likes to touch his lips to the back of Eren’s neck and shoulder, but never his mouth, and he’s never tried to touch Eren more intimately. He doesn’t understand how Levi does it. How he restrains himself after all this time. Eren’s barely been able to for the last year.

   Eren shakes his head and reopens the crack in his lip. Levi’s always liked physical closeness and affection, but not sex. 

   Or, Eren didn’t think he did. 

   Shutting the bathroom door, he breathes through the stuttering in his chest. He presses his fingertips to his temple and tells his pulse to slow. He’s never really cared that they don’t do … things. Not really. He’s never pushed Levi because Levi is perfect just as he is.

   When Eren was younger, he was stupid and selfish and horny. A brat. Now that he’s older, Eren doesn’t crave sex to satisfy that kind of youthful hunger. He wants it to fill some other empty place inside he doesn’t understand, nor can put a name to. 

   His skin aches for it. He just wants to be close. 

   Breathless, he sees visions that come to him too often. Embracing Levi, but without their drawers between them. Just to be nearer. Feeling all of Levi’s skin against his while exchanging the softest kisses. His touch making Levi smile. Taking away some of Levi’s pain. Making Levi come so he could steal his worries if only for a few fleeting moments. Levi not holding back.

   Eren cannot want this. He cannot respond. He shouldn’t think about this now.

   His eyes are hot with conflict. He’s always taken Levi as he is and loves him no less. It should be enough. _It is._ But now, maybe Levi would offer it.

   Eren tugs at his hair. He can’t have it. He’s leaving. Leaving so soon …  

   Knuckles rap at the door. “Taking a shit?” Eren can feel Levi’s deep tenor on his back.  “Awful timing, you just had a bath.” 

   Eren groans. It’s the worst moment for a shit joke.

   And how can Levi’s voice sound so infuriatingly even? He just had half an erection. 

   “Fuck,” Eren’s hand squeezes the comb in his hand tighter before it drops, hitting his toe as it clatters to the floor. “No. Be out in a minute.”

   Levi hums, and Eren scowls at his slowly deflating penis. “Go down, dum-dum,” he whispers as he listens for the sound of Levi’s light steps fading. 

   Why now? Why when his time with Levi is slipping away? 

   Maybe it was a trick of his mind. A silent voice inside trying to make him stay. One of the titans trying to stop him from enacting his plan. Perhaps his vision is skewed. Maybe it’s all a lie.

   A couple months earlier, Eren would have welcomed this. He isn’t good at it, but Eren would have flirted. With his too-big grin which looks so silly his cheeks tremble with it. Instead of merely kicking Levi’s shin, he would rub his toes up and down it and over Levi’s ankle bone. Eren would look at Levi too long. Until his eyes burned and nearly steamed as he tried not to blink. He would stare until his face and neck felt as though he set them on fire, and the tips of his ears flared with crimson heat. 

   But that is how life always works. At one time, Eren had a mother and father and childhood, then the wall was decimated, and a chunk of it landed on his house. His mother was eaten and his father … he disappeared down Eren’s own throat only to curse him with thirteen years. After that, they thought they had the upper hand, only to discover there was an enemy beyond comprehension. And now, Levi’s different, cracking open the shield and beckoning Eren inside right before he must leave.

   It isn’t fair. Nothing’s been fair since Eren was ten.

   He presses his wrists to his eyes, and digs his nails into his scalp, dragging in the evanescing scent of Levi’s soap, bath oil, and shampoo. He looks at his hand. It’s steaming. 

   “Shit.” There’s a line of stinging pricks across his palm, crimson droplets flanked by angry pink skin. Willing them to heal, he picks up his comb and stows it in Levi’s cupboard, rinses his hand, and splashes water on his face. 

   Eren wraps his fingers around the edge of the basin. He stares at his reflection, blinks at a bead of water slipping from the tip of his nose. “You can’t have this,” he whispers, glaring at himself. _Not now,_ he thinks. _You have enough already._

 

It takes Eren several minutes to compose himself and for his penis to behave in a more gentlemanly fashion, but he wraps a towel around his waist, walks as innocently as possible to Levi’s bedroom, puts on his clean drawers, and tries to concentrate on something other than Levi at the kitchen table wearing his concentrated little frown. Something gross, like Jean’s chest hair, or the time Connie did cartwheels after imbibing too much ale and puked on his boots. 

   Levi has all the knife maintenance supplies spread over the table, but Eren walks over to his cosy seat by the hearth and looks longingly at the comfortable indent his arse has left in the cushion over the past four years. The supple leather would feel refreshing to his heated skin right now. Levi doesn’t take the bait.

   “Sure you weren’t taking a shit?” Levi asks without looking up. He drizzles oil over the whetstone.

   Eren shuffles over and sits across from him. “Saving it for the morning,” he says. “No chess tonight?”

   “Blades need sharpening.”

   Frowning, Eren sighs. It’s not knife maintenance night. Levi likes Sundays for that. “We sharpened them all a week and a half ago.”

   “Not all of them.” Levi gestures to the collection of weapons in a neat row. 

   To Levi’s left is the dirk from under his armchair and its twin from under Eren’s, the blade which he hides beneath the loose floorboard in the bedroom, the underwear drawer knife, and the dagger Levi keeps fastened below the kitchen table. Eren’s surprised Levi hasn’t gone to fetch the toilet knife from the loo.

   He reaches toward the ostentatiously engraved handle of the kitchen table dagger. It’s gorgeous and gleaming and looks so tough and sharp. The blade of a beautiful killer.

   “Uh uh,” Levi says, shooing away Eren’s rapacious fingers with a slap. 

   “C’mon,” Eren says. “You never let me play with it.”

   “That’s because you want to _play_ with it.” He flicks Eren’s jackknife open, examining the blade before he places it before him. “Focus on this. It could use a bit of honing.”

   Eren wants to grumble that Levi could use a bit of honing. He wants to stomp his foot and tell Levi he’s a man and he’s old enough to play with Levi’s dagger, but he lunges for his teacup instead, pausing when aromatic steam creeps from the sunny liquid toward his nostrils. “This isn’t Gunpowder.”

   “Chamomile.” Somehow Levi, at once, looks both mischievous and troubled. His lips are curved, but his brows are close together, and not in his usual I’m-concentrating-on-knives sort of frown. “Biscuits too,” he says, as he looks up from his work and nudges the tin toward Eren. 

   He takes a cookie but scowls at his cup of tealess tea with a disdainful grimace, lamenting it’s not flavorful and smokey Gunpowder. Gunpowder tastes better with the scent of blade oil filling his nose than Chamomile. “Who sharpens knives while drinking herbal?”

   “Tonight …” Levi begins, “we do.”

   Eren exhales an irritated breath and angles his blade on the stone when Levi pokes his toe. He better get to work if he’s going to question Levi’s cruddy tea decision. “Why?” 

   Quiet for a moment, or lost in his head, Levi sips the flowery infusion. He’s using the cup Eren gave him for his birthday. The one decorated with eyeless odd-colored fish. Eren frowns. He wonders why Levi favors it. It’s a silly teacup, but Eren was only fifteen when he chose it, and the subdued greyish-green swishes adorning it reminded him of Levi. Some otherworldly hue, an amalgamation of his cloak and his eyes. 

   “You haven’t been sleeping good,” Levi finally says and runs his dagger down the stone’s abrasive surface. “You don’t need the jolt.”

   If Eren denied it, debated it, argued, it would be a shameful lie. He hasn’t slept well in two months. “They’re just nightmares.” 

   Levi gulps his Chamomile this time and nips his lip. Sometimes, he looks as though he has a million things to say. His mouth pulls into a thin line, but his solemn eyes betray him, and Eren can see all his questions, all his feelings flitting behind silvery-grey. And sometimes, Eren wants to make them all come out. To provoke, to push, to poke. To unleash the tempest that blows and thrashes beyond his reach, if only to be swept up in it. To be rendered by it.

   But it’s too late for all that. Holding himself back, Eren presses his tongue to his teeth. He’ll bite the thing off before he says anything stupid. Not that it matters, it will grow back anyhow. 

   The scrape-scratch-scrape is too loud with Levi scrutinizing him, searching him, looking beyond Eren’s reassurances.  

   “I’m all right,” Eren adds.

   “You’re pushing yourself too hard. I don’t care what Hanji says.”

   Eren groans. “It’s not Hanji. I want to learn how to do it.” They’ve had this discussion too much lately. 

   “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

   “That’s because it’s almost bedtime and you’re making me sharpen knives,” Eren says, “besides, the training’s important.”

   Levi tsks. He’s rigid and tight and scowling. “We communicate fine, you don’t need to learn how to talk.” 

   Causing Levi distress is at the top of Eren’s never-to-be done list. He’s always done his best. Let Levi coddle him with tea and snacks and lain quietly with him in bed, talking through all his worries if only to rid Levi of his own. They’ve bitched their way through the ritual more times than Eren can count, but he abandoned his never-to-be-done list the day he committed to a more critical vow. 

   Chewing the crack in his lip, Eren takes a deep breath. “I need to try.”

   “It’s exhausting you.” 

   Of course, he’s exhausted. He slept alone last night. “I’m always exhausted.”

   “Fine.” Levi relents, yet the danger in his expression lingers. His voice drops. “Keep at it, but if you two overdo it, I’ll kick your arse. Hanji’s too.”

   “Like that’ll help,” he says, though nods when Levi kicks his shin. Eren kicks back. “I’ll be careful.”

   “There’s more than one way to hurt yourself,” Levi says, blinking slowly before refocusing on honing. “This isn’t much different.”

   Gulping at the memory, Eren’s gaze falls to his jackknife … 

   It wasn’t a good day, and Levi found Eren in his room, swathed in anger and painful memories, some of which weren’t his own. His head was pounding. His arms were bleeding. Bits of his skin were stuck under his nails. Steam obscured his vision.

   “Next time talk to me, idiot,” Levi said that night trying to make Eren focus. He swept his fingers through Eren’s hair and tucked it behind his ear before Eren healed his self-inflicted bruises and scratches then spent an hour bawling into Levi’s chest. 

   After that, Levi drew Eren a bath and rubbed his hands and his feet and his back and his temples. Then he fed him and made Eren drink so much tea he thought he’d burst before he put them both to bed and let Eren cry again until all his tears were spent and his eyes were so dry, closing them felt as though the lids were made of grit.

   He vowed then to Levi he wouldn’t do it again. That he would come to him if he felt that lost. He can’t explain to Levi he’s driving himself for the mission. He can’t tell him he sleeps like shit since he made the decision to leave. Especially when he sleeps alone. It’s not from the memories or the flashbacks or the migraines, but Levi will ask why, and Eren has no excuse. 

   Fingers twitching at the recollection, Eren’s jackknife slips from his grasp and spins on the table like a deadly toy. “Shit.”

   “All right?” Levi asks.

   “Yeah.”

   Levi smirks. “Butterfingers,” he says, then points at the bookshelf. “Book’s over there if you need help.”

   Eren frowns and shakes his head. He can see Knife Maintenance Basics, by Bartholomew Took staring at him from the shelf. He huffs. Levi made him read it so many times when he was young. He could probably recite it in his sleep.

   “I’d rather eat that book than read it again.”

   “Have a biscuit instead.”

  * * *

“You’re dallying,” Levi says, neatly folding down the quilt. He looks amusedly irritated. “You had too many biscuits.”

   He only had eleven. “They were tasty.”

   “If you have one crumb on you, I’ll kick you onto the floor.”

   Eren rolls his eyes and turns down the lantern. _No, you won’t._

   Levi can complain all he wants about crumbs and Eren messing up the sheets and how hot he is and his snoring and farting and whatever else. Eren knows he likes him in his bed. And he can call him a “clingy brat” whilst holding him tighter until the day the sun doesn’t rise because Eren knows Levi’s a wonderful little liar. 

   “I brushed off.” He flops onto the center of the bed, fluffing his pillow with his fist just to coax a glare from Levi, and then grins. “I swept too.”

   Maybe Levi looks like he’s suggesting Eren didn’t do the best job. With his rising brows above eyes which look as though they would blink slowly during a moment of patience collection. He rearranges the drapes, then pinches Eren’s leg on the way to his side of the bed.

   “Shove over.”

   Obeying with a grumble, Eren makes room while Levi shakes his head and sighs, wearing the most minute of smiles.   

   “Arse,” Levi mutters.

   Eren smiles and gives Levi the finger. “Your feet will be cold without me.”

   He doesn’t remember exactly when they became this way. It wasn’t one wondrous day out of the hundreds, and Levi never asked, and neither did Eren, but they tumbled with calm and gentle certainty to what they are, and Eren doesn’t question it. He can’t even define it. He doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to.

   “You’re a brat,” Levi says, turning once he’s settled under the sheet, arms open, wordlessly offering to be the big spoon for the night.    

   “And you’re a grump.” He’s probably pushing his luck. They don’t always do this. Less in summer when it’s hot, but Eren never minds the stickiness of their sweating skin, nor the heat when Levi’s willing to give comfort or take it.

   “The offer to sleep on the floor still stands.”

   Eren won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. At least when the gift horse is a hug from Levi. 

   He bites his lip and turns, pressing his back to the comfort of Levi’s chest, and rearranges the sheet at his hip. Levi’s spoiling him tonight, and the sensation of it takes Eren back. He finds Levi’s hands; one stretched out before him, the other settled over his waist. 

   Tonight, Levi’s lips and chin on his nape and their fingers twined remind Eren of when he was fifteen. When he first began sleeping in Levi’s bed. Back then, it wasn’t as often, but when Eren had nightmares, or when Levi would examine him from across the chessboard with piercingly narrowed eyes and whisper, _I’ll kick your arse if you twist up all the sheets._

   Eren did it anyway—not that he could control it no matter how he tried. 

   Levi doesn’t say anything but squeezes Eren’s hand in voiceless comfort.

   Perhaps he senses what’s been within Eren today. The drag, the weight, the plotting seed of inevitability that he’s tried to put out of his mind. It’s not as if Levi wouldn’t feel it. Wouldn’t suspect it. Not the specificness of Eren’s mission or even that one existed, but his sorrow at it. He’s never been good at hiding things, even less accomplished at keeping things from Levi. So often, Levi knows his emotions before Eren knows them himself. 

   He sighs and finds the scar on Levi’s left hand. Runs the tips of his fingers down its smooth line while pressing his thumb to Levi’s wrist, finding his pulse, etching its beat into his memory. 

   “Mmm.” Levi’s lips vibrate against Eren’s skin. “You’re stiff,” he says.

   “I did a lot of training.” Such a perfect attempt at deflection, a skill he’s learned over the years from Levi. Not that it always works.

   Levi laughs. It’s just a tiny little huff, but his warm breath fans over Eren’s skin, raising goosebumps along the length of his neck. 

   His fingers tap, then fasten tighter on Eren’s hip when there are shouts in the courtyard. Some idiot droning, “I can’t wait to taste you,” with a gravelly voice, probably thinking he isn’t loud as fuck. It’s followed by a breathless squeak, and high pitched whining then perhaps an “oh yes” or “oh fuck.”

   “Hope she took a bath,” Levi says against Eren’s shoulder, adding, “then again, maybe not” when Mr I-can’t-wait-to taste-you yells again.

   “Ugh.” Eren doesn’t want to think about that. And definitely not tonight. 

   They hear noises some nights; breathy moans down the hallway, young lovers giggling in the courtyard below, on the weekend; drunk people joining for one-night stands. It’s always irksome, but Eren doesn’t need the reminder this evening. 

   “Shit’s out of control here,” Levi says. “I almost miss when the curfew was enforced.”

   “Would you rather Pixis was back?” Eren asks.

   Scoffing, Levi shakes his head. “He’d drink all the good alcohol.”

   “We’d still have to hear screaming too.”

   “Mm.” Levi holds Eren tighter. 

   Eren wonders if it’s the mention of screaming that spurred Levi to move closer, or maybe Levi is simply feeling close tonight. He gave Eren extra biscuits and offered to hold him in the heat. And then there was what happened earlier after their bath.

   Eren’s entire body aches with the need to turn in his arms.

   It would be so lovely, more than lovely—something else which is a word he cannot grasp—to face Levi and touch the tips of their noses together. 

   It’s happened accidentally before, and sometimes Levi lets Eren rub his cheek on his chin and jaw, but there’s never the gnawing intention that is within Eren right now.

   Instead, Eren makes himself as small as he can in Levi’s arms, wondering why he can’t be content with what he has. No, that’s not right—he is happy, at least where Levi is concerned. What it is, is that he longs, he craves, he wants. He covets for the feeling of Levi’s warmth and heart against his greedy hands. 

 _Greedy._ That’s what Levi always calls him. 

   It matters not that Levi’s brow rises in a soft loving arch and his lips twitch at the corners when he says it. It’s true. Eren bites his lip, finds Levi’s pattering pulse with his thumb, and squirms closer to Levi’s chest. Maybe he could burrow inside it if he tried hard enough. He wants to be closer than they are right now because it doesn’t begin to be close enough to soothe the ache in his throbbing heart. 

   They’ve never talked about Levi’s lack of want, and Eren’s never asked, but what else could it be? Day after day, year after year, Eren has tried. Gently. He’s been so patient it stings. He’s spent enough time watching everyone else to know what he does. Unable to help himself, he’s looked at Levi’s eyes, then his lips, and back when they’re so close on Levi’s couch or under the tree. 

   Or perhaps, what others have said is right, and he really is a blockhead. He has no experience to go by, and unless it would be with Levi, he’s never known anyone else who made him want any. 

   Some things are better left alone, but Eren’s never been adept at keeping himself from poking the hornet nest. He’s happy with the holding and the hugs. Eren is content with tracing Levi’s scars and poking shins and taking baths. It’s something he shouldn’t allow himself as it is, but he can’t say no. 

   He sighs into his pillow. He couldn’t ask if he was willing to. In less than three months, he’ll be across the ocean. 

   Even if he wouldn’t be, he doesn’t have a lifetime left. 

   He’s dying.


	3. Stable Two

When Levi wakes Eren the next morning, it’s with a gentle, yet sharp kick to his arse. Groaning, Eren rolls over, tangled in Levi’s formerly crisp sheets. 

   “I let you sleep,” Levi says. “You fucking need it.”

   Eren opens his eyes to darkness and smiles. Levi looms above him, bathed in the dim lantern light. His hair is combed, he’s wearing his dark grey dressing gown and his drawers, favorite teacup in his elegant hand, steam rising in drowsy ribbons against his palm. 

   Let it never be said Eren enjoys arising this early, but the day’s first view is worth it. 

   He grumbles, scrubbing slumber’s rheum from his eyes. “It doesn’t feel like you let me sleep.”

   “It’s four in the morning,” Levi says, “what do you expect?” 

   Eren wants to say something idiotic like _a kiss,_ yet he opts for “Breakfast?” instead. 

   Levi smirks. “Assam and toast are on the table.” 

 

The sun has yet to rise when they arrive at the stables, but the sky’s darkness is ebbing in gradients of black to a greenish-indigo that reminds Eren of the ocean and relieving summer lakes during the oppressing heat of the day. Levi’s eyes glow in it. 

   Their footfalls tread with a sloshy sound, kicking up the morning dew. Eren inhales deep when Levi does, then flicks his gaze in his direction and smiles. 

   It’s one of those rare moments when Levi looks entirely at peace, then shares it with Eren. As though he were giving him a tiny secret gift. In some ways, it’s even better than the tea Levi’s given him over the years. Those warm Eren too, but this expression pierces as though Levi’s sent it straight into his heart. Like he’s planting a seed, and it grows until Eren’s skin is alight with calming heat, and he’s so full of hush tranquility, he would gladly burst with it. 

   Enchanted and wobbly on his feet, Eren almost walks into the stable doors, halting with a “Whoopsie” six inches from it, and Levi’s steadying grasp on his shoulder. 

   “Sorry,” Eren says, running his fingers through his hair. That was embarrassing.

   “Maybe you do need more sleep.” The concern in Levi’s eyes belies his calm and even voice as he turns Eren to face him. 

   Eren shakes his head, readjusting his shirt. “I’m good.”

   Appearing unconvinced, Levi purses his lips and jabs his finger toward the door. “We catch anyone fucking in there this time …”  His voice falls to a whisper, “I’m chucking their clothes in the stream.”

   Eren sniggers, though he feels for whoever might be inside. “They don’t have private rooms, ya know.”

   “Don’t give a shit,” Levi says, cracking his knuckles. “They befouled the hay last time.”

   Eren shivers, recalling the flash of naked arses squirming and thrusting on top of the bale of hay. The groaning and whines, the rhythmic clap of flesh slapping against flesh. The lewd shine of fluid dripping down skin. 

   It was a mess, but Eren donned a pair of elbow-length gloves and helped Levi clean. They lingered in Levi’s tub longer than usual that evening, and Levi gave Eren an extra thorough foot massage, scrubbed and rubbed his back, and washed his hair all in one night. If Eren will be spoiled like that again, he’s not sure he’ll complain much if they open the door to find another writhing mass of come-covered debauchery. 

   “At least they didn’t _befoul_ the oats,” Eren says. He knows he sounds sheepish and bashful and adolescent. It doesn’t happen as often as it did when he was younger, but still, it comes, especially after both the disgusting and pleasing, hazy visions.

   He chews on the crack in his lip. At least he has those.

   “I’m not fucking around,” Levi says. Something dangerous plays around his eyes. “I’ll cut them.”

   Eren inhales a deep breath. A moment ago, he was selfishly fantasizing of a silver lining, but Levi’s stern frown is etching the full width of his brow, his eyes are narrowed, and his right hand is hovering at his hip. There’s no question Levi would at least frighten them. He’ll produce the treasured jackknife from his right pants pocket and clean his already perfectly cleans nails with it. And in awe, Eren will watch, heated and tingling just as he always does when Levi is terrifying. 

   Eren knocks his knuckles against Levi’s. “I’m sure no one is in there. Everyone else is probably tucked in bed asleep.”

   “You’d be surprised.” Levi shakes his head, and Eren holds his breath, watching the stippled patches of waning moonlight scatter pretty shapes across Levi’s face. “I don’t give a shit if people want to fuck, but they can keep it away from Vaka and Eurus.” His eyes narrow. “One of these days some prat’s going to get kicked through a wall.”

   “Eurus …” Eren sighs. Eurus isn’t exactly calm or relaxed. He broods, he’s ornery, has a bad temper, and an even worse sense of humor, but he’s also kind and wise and would gallop into a titan’s maw to save Levi’s life.

   Levi wrenches the door open, raising his voice as he eyes the interior of the barn, and reiterates, “I don’t care where people go to get laid as long as it’s not in this stable.” He steps past the threshold, Levi-aura expanding, reaching out as Eren follows. 

   Other than the faint early morning glow from the window above the loft, and the sounds of snuffling horse breaths and crunching hay, inside, it is dark and silent. 

   “I’ll get another lantern,” Eren says as Levi moves off to strut about, investigating, leaving Eren in temporary darkness. Night has retreated enough he can see the closest one, sitting on an empty overturned oat crate. He pulls his match case from his pocket, strikes one against his thigh, and crouches. When the wick is lit, Eren yelps. 

   “The fuck is wrong?” Levi strides over, shoulders straight, grasping the back of Eren’s shirt and yanking to help him up from where he’s fallen on his arse. “All right?”

   “I’m fine,” Eren says, standing and wiping dirt from the seat of his trousers. 

   Behind the crate, two glowing green-blue eyes peer at him. Eren peers back, and points while thinking of tiny monsters, holding in a laugh at how funny that image is. “There’s a”—he squints, he snorts—“a cat.”

   Snatching the lantern, Levi inspects closer. The cat doesn’t move but blinks with lazy apathy, and then glares as Levi returns to Eren’s side with it held by its scruff. “There’s always an intruder.”

   “I bet he keeps the mice away.” Eren points out the obvious, taking it when it squirms and meows as though it were telling Levi to go fuck himself. 

   “You’ll be covered in fur.”

   “I’ll be covered in horse shit by lunch.” Eren doesn’t care either way. He holds the small cat aloft and examines it. “Light a few more lanterns. I want to get a look.”

   Levi clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but it holds no bite. Meanwhile, Eren marvels at what seems to be an older kitten’s patterning. It’s tabby; silver and black, and Eren traces his fingers over a soft marking on its side in the shape of a spirally bullseye. It’s already purring, and when Levi returns, Eren holds up the kitten in the light. “Oh, you’re a little sir,” he says.

   “He has to have balls to invade my stable.” Levi shrugs.

   Eren snorts again, then he gasps, trying to keep the laughter in, but it pushes against his ribs, and an awful sound spews through his nose and mouth like a distorted raspberry before he howls, and his stomach contracts. Levi’s jokes are horrible. Horrible and perfect, and Eren wants to hug him with the kitten in his arm between them for being so appealingly stupid. 

   “It wasn’t that funny,” Levi says, crossing his arms. 

   “No,” Eren sputters and laughs more, choking while guffawing and holding the stitch in his side. “No, it wasn’t … but that makes it funnier.”

   Below his narrowed eyes, Levi smiles his secret only-for-Eren-smile. “Idiot.”

   “So are you.” Scratching behind the cat’s ear, Eren cuddles him. He can feel him purring against his chest. The comforting vibration fills him with tender warmth, shaking loose the tension that seems to be permanently wrapped around him these days. 

   Levi prompts Eren to release the kitten, and Eren sighs heartily, relenting, but their new companion doesn’t depart. 

   

All day, the kitten watches them as they muck, and then distribute hay. When they feed the horses, the kitten investigates the oats and twitches his whiskers when a stray piece sticks to his wet nose. He meanders around Eren’s ankles when they brush Eurus and Vaka, and hisses at Levi when he tells him to scoot after nearly tripping him.

  

“Drink.” A canteen comes flying from the next stall over.

    Eren catches it one-handed and smirks. “Thanks.”

   “Good reflexes.”

   “Luck.” Eren winks and unscrews the cap. He’s so thirsty. The stables are so hot. And although he’s only drinking it, the fresh gulps of water leave his skin feeling a bit cleaner. 

   “Almost done,” Levi says, lowering himself to a crate, “We can fuck off for a bit. Not much left.”

   That’s one advantage of stable work; it’s done relatively early. Sure, he and Levi have to awaken before first light, but by afternoon they’re finished and the remainder of their day is free. 

   Eren smiles. He could get used to this. 

   He feels almost normal. 

   On days like today, in the stable, with Levi, and their new feline acquaintance, he can almost forget what awaits him. He can quiet the constant debate of whether to tell Levi. It flies away and only crashes into his chest with panic-inducing tenacity when his mind is far too quiet. He needs the hard work and the company. 

   “Cut the shit, Varúð,” Levi says to the cat when he rubs against his leg.

   Eren frowns. “What did you call him?”

   “Varúð,” Levi says, returning the frown as he stretches his fingers until his knuckles crack.

   “That’s not his name.” Rolling his eyes, Eren sighs. “His name is Valtari.”

   Levi holds up a hand. “I agree with the ‘V,’ but that’s too many syllables.”

   “Bullshit!” Eren leans down and rubs his fingers together, clucking his tongue, beckoning the cat closer. “C’mere, Valtari.”

   “Varúð.”

   “You don’t even like cats.”

   “I don’t dislike them.” Levi jerks his chin toward Valtari-or-Varúð where he’s rolling around between their feet, purring. “See, he’s not even coming.”

   “He’s not coming to Varúð either, idiot.”

   Levi smirks, throws a piece of hay in Eren’s direction, and tries to attract Valtari-Varúð with a snap of his fingers. Rather than leaving Eren scowling, it warms him. It stretches a grin across his face. Eren adores this facet of Levi. His childishness. The youthful spirit that twines with the part of him which sometimes feels so very, very old and worn. It’s like a mask beneath a mask, though Eren isn’t sure which one is the mask. Perhaps both. Maybe neither. 

   Sometimes, Levi laughs, and smiles, and feels lighter than a sunny-day cloud when he lets go the way he has now. Lips curling against the hardened resistance of his cheeks, and talking to a cat while tossing bits of hay Valtari-Varúð attempts to capture. Eren knows what lies beneath though, and it’s why right now he wants to laugh and hold Levi at the same time. He wonders if he’ll smile like this after he’s left for Liberio, when Eren’s gone, or if Eren will dash away the last bit of light within him. 

   Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Eren sends the thoughts away. It’s a worry for a night in bed alone—maybe a paperwork night—not for a gorgeous day spent in the stables with Levi for company. He bites his lip and smirks, looking at Levi through the strands of his fringe. “C’mon, Valtari. Come here.”

   “We could settle this in the grass,” Levi says, raising a brow as he stands to stretch.

   Though sparring with Levi is tempting, Eren knows he won’t win. He rarely does, and he suspects it’s only when Levi allows it. But he won’t allow it over this. “Maybe the cat will choose a name. Let’s give him some time, then if he doesn’t, we’ll decide.”

   “So, we will.” The purse to Levi’s lips makes the tempt even worse. 

   Eren knows himself today. Today is not a day he’ll be capable of controlling himself. After dinner and a bath, Levi will smell wonderful. His hair will be damp, his skin sweaty after a few minutes of wrestling, his shirt will come off, and he’ll drop all the shields—or at least most of them. Levi will be beautiful during twilight and scented like grass, and he’ll snicker and smirk and toss Eren all over the place. Eren won’t be able to resist, and the stony shield he created to protect Levi will shatter. 

   He rubs at his forehead. “Want to finish up?” Eren asks, thinking of a bath, dinner, tea, and perhaps scrubbing his filthy clothes alongside Levi. 

   Levi doesn’t answer, though he reclaims his shovel before he sends Eren a glance that all but says, _I want tea too._


	4. Chess and Gyokuro

“They’re already getting plastered,” Eren says, cleaning out Vaka’s brush. 

   “Idiots.” Levi scratches Valtari-Varúð’s soft little belly. “It’s only four. It’s like they’ve never tasted shitty ale before.”

   HQ can be tedious and mundane on its best day. Or so it seems for most of its inhabitants. Graduation parties like tonight’s inspire loudness, squealing, roughhousing, and drunkenness. When Eren was young, he enjoyed it, but that was when two tankards of ale were enough to have Levi giving him a swift kick to his arse before dragging him away from the festivities. These days, it would probably take ten.  

   “I’d rather have tea and play chess.”

   “Good,” Levi says. He dusts off his hands, pulls out the last of his sugar cubes, and divides them between Vaka and Eurus. “I wasn’t looking forward to yanking you out of the mess hall again.”

   Eren rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.” He wasn’t. He and Jean were simply demonstrating to a group of younger recruits how they used to fight when they were twelve … and thirteen … and seventeen too. It was the kids’ idea anyway. “It would have been fun, you know.”

   “You two would have broken that table you were standing on.”

   Huffing, Eren puts Vaka’s brush away. Levi probably has a point. He always does. “Don’t worry, I didn’t want to go to that stupid party tonight anyway. I don’t even want to go to the mess to eat.” 

   Levi’s lips curve. He looks mischievous. “I’ve got eggs and goat cheese, and mushrooms.”

   Eren smiles. He knows what that means. Levi will make them omelettes with mushrooms topped with goat cheese. This is a special dinner. Probably a reward for the long, hard day that began far too early. 

  “I’ve been saving some biscuits,” he says.

   Levi’s features soften before they harden in raw determination. “Quick shower then,” he says, adding, “no dallying,” before he locks Eurus and Vaka’s stalls, and shoves Eren toward the entrance of Stable Two.

   * * *

Eren’s quarters are sweltering-stuffy-soupy when he returns. He scowls and opens the window. It doesn’t matter his and Levi’s rooms are right next to each other, both facing the east, looking down on the cobbled courtyard. Eren’s place is never as fresh and clean scented as Levi’s. The air is never light. 

   Maybe it’s that the boughs of big oak don’t extend far enough to give Eren shade, or that those perfumed vines of jasmine growing up the building’s façade seem to lack the inclination to stretch to his dwelling. They fringe the casement of Levi’s windows with delicate white blossoms and evergreen leaves, then just stop.

   Perhaps even nature doesn’t like him.

   At the moment, it’s nothing worth ruminating on. Eren has a savory mushroom omelette to look forward to and a needed shower. He tugs his shirt off on the way to the washroom, places it in his hamper, and turns on the tap. 

   By the time he finished undressing, the water still isn’t particularly hot, and for a moment, when its cooling relief cascades over his head, Eren is grateful for it.  

   He swipes the water from his eyes, and reaches for his bar of soap, spying his old straight razor on the soap dish. Eren doesn’t use it for shaving since Levi bought him a new one for his birthday last year. 

   At least, Eren likes to think it was a birthday gift, despite Levi never saying so and giving it to him unwrapped two days before. 

 _Your razor’s dull as shit. I’m sick of watching your face steam every morning._ Levi smiled after that, then set it in Eren’s palm and went back to reading the paper and crunching his toast. 

   Eren’s fingernails dig into the soap as he stares at the glinting edge of the discarded blade. His fingers buzz where he’s carved through his skin, separated the joints, and lopped off parts of himself. It’s like feeling his old fingers and new fingers at the same moment. As though he carries around the ghosts of his severed limbs.

   He bites his lip, glaring at the old cheap razor. 

   Just one little knuckle … 

   He can hear Yelena, _You’ll have to know what you’re doing Eren. You can’t make any mistakes._    

   He really should practice. It’s not as though he has much time to himself.

   And it’s tidier in the shower. His blood steams to nothing. Sometimes it leaves a stain. Especially if the water hits it before it dries, but the chunks of flesh and fingers and toes dissolve here without making a mess and leaving evidence. And blood does tend to spray when you cut off your entire hand or foot. 

   The bar of soap is crushing in his grip. Eren needs to do it again. He’ll need to know he can manage half a leg before he leaves. 

   “Fuck …”—he shakes his head so fast his vision blurs—“not today …”

    _Not today._  

   Today, he almost forgot. He’s been with Levi since he woke him this morning, spent time with Eurus and Vaka and the other horses, and made a new friend in Valtari. He and Levi are going to have a delectable dinner prepared carefully by Levi’s perfect hands. They’ll skip the stupid party, and have tea and play chess, and when they settle into Levi’s refreshing bed, Eren will inhale the fragrance of jasmine and Levi as he floats off to semi-peaceful sleep before they do it all again the next day. 

   “Not today,” Eren repeats in a whisper. “Not tomorrow.” Only a little longer, he thinks, only a little longer before he’ll concentrate on his mission again. For now, he just wants to pretend. 

   It’s all he has left.  

Levi’s clean and already cooking when Eren slips into his quarters. He’s barely shut the door when the scents of cedar and cassis and the creamy balm Levi rubs into his hands after work hit his nose.

   “I said not to dally.” Levi works the kitchen knife over the cutting board with a speed and finesse which never fails to impress Eren. 

   “Sorry,” Eren says. He wasn’t really dallying. Not truly. Not with intention. He found his bearings and washed, then wrapped his practice razor in a flannel and stashed it in the cupboard. It’s a terrible reminder. A potential day ruiner. Eren won’t allow it. “The water felt too nice.”

   “Mmm.” Levi nods. “Flip the toast.”

   “Not to be an arse, but I thought you didn’t want to use the stove.”

   “I’m sick of sandwiches today.” Levi shrugs. “You going to ponder dinner, or help me?”

   “I’ll help.”

   There’s a little hop in Eren’s step as he moves to wash his hands. Something which reminds him of jumping to attention when he was younger. Nowadays, unless there’s an official event, they’ve all become lazy about that. Eren barely calls Hanji ‘Commander’ anymore, and he hasn’t called Levi ‘Captain’ in anything other than jest since he was sixteen.

   He turns the bread in the pan without looking, craning his neck to watch Levi’s hands as the knife flies. He’s so good with knives. “If only you could chop chocolate that well,” Eren says, teasing. 

   “Tch.” A line presses into Levi’s cheek, and Eren smiles. “It’s my one culinary flaw. You do it better anyway.”

   “Looks good,” Eren says, and tries not to beam like he did when he was fifteen. “Where’d you get the mushrooms from?”

   “Everard.”. 

   “These smell different, did he tell you where they’re from?”

   Levi tilts the board over the pan, scraping the roasted mushrooms into it with a flourish that makes Eren’s chest tingle. “Someplace on the continent.” He scoffs. “These shitheads will trade, but they won’t help us with those Marley fuckers … Bastards.”

    _Don’t go there,_ Eren thinks to himself as he pictures the old straight razor, _not tonight. Not when I put it away._ “It’s just—that’s their governments and the people like the money.”

   Grumbling, Levi brushes past Eren to set dinner on the table. He combs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes, I think it would be better if the world ran like the Underground.”

   Eren doesn’t say anything. Instead, he fetches the toast, brings it to the table, and joins Levi. Levi says things like this sometimes when he’s grouchy, and there’s never much Eren can muster that will steer him from it, not with words anyway. He traps Levi’s foot under the table and watches the tension fade from his features as he stares at his half of the omelette.

   Levi taps his toe against Eren’s ankle and sets a piece of bread on Eren’s plate. _Sorry. Eat._

  Nodding, Eren spears a mushroom with his fork. The dangerous bits of conversation flee, and Levi’s troubled frown is gone, replaced with his this-shit-better-taste-good frown. 

   Of course, it tastes heavenly. The mushroom flavor isn’t overbearing, and the herbed goat cheese lightens it. They both eat with the kind of vigor that is spurred by a grueling day of work, silent save for crunching and Eren slurping his Sencha because for some reason Sencha tastes even better to him slurped. Levi raises a brow, but he doesn’t kick Eren in the knee or the shin. 

   

With dishwashing comes the evening wind. Eren can smell the celebration bonfires and roasting pigs on spits. He imagines he can detect the reek of the liquor which he knows is flowing too. 

   He pulls the plug in the sink drain and hands Levi the last piece of china. 

   When it’s dry, Eren rinses the sink as Levi sets the kettle to boil, and then strides to the open window. 

   “It’s nice …” Eren says, moving up behind Levi, finding his small, slender fingers where they rest against the sill, and then the smooth scar over the back of his left hand. He watches Levi caress the petals of the jasmine trying to claim the building.

   Almost all the buds on the vines are near open. The first full bloom has reached its climax, and tonight, the evening scent will invade Levi’s quarters like a cologne spritzed army and lull Eren almost as much as Levi’s arms do. 

   At the thought, there’s a twist in Eren’s chest where only warmth should be. 

   Not long from now—in mere days—the blooms will brown and wither and fall, descending in bittersweet tandem with the grains in his sandglass. 

   Eren gulps. Unlike the sandglass, the flowers will grow again, anew.

   “It’s fucking hot.” There’s a shine to Levi’s brow as he tugs at the front of his shirt for air and then releases the fourth wooden button down from its hole. “I’d prefer snow.”

   Levi scowls at a gaggle rowdy recruits laughing in the courtyard like he’s trying to analyze them. Like he’s trying to read their minds and figure out why they love the getting drunk in sizzling, shitty heat so much. 

   “It’s too dark in the winter,” Eren says. “It makes me sad.”

   Levi’s pinky traps Eren’s. “I know.”

   “A way to make good cold tea in summer would help though.”

   It comes as no surprise that Levi scoffs at the notion. Cold tea is bitter and never tastes right. They’ve made attempts in the past on sweltering summer days only to frown and choke on coughs while Levi declares they’ve wasted perfectly good leaves. 

   “We’ll have Gyokuro?” Levi asks, still narrowing his eyes at the boisterous recruits stained in the sun’s waning light. 

    _Gyokuro …_ Eren loses his breath. After Levi’s omelette, the fresh, grassy taste is so enticing Eren can already conjure the flavor, smell it, feel it glance slippery over his tongue with the first swallow. 

   “I’ll be more careful this time if you let me help.” Eren shudders at the remembered pungence of over-steeped Gyokuro. It tasted like too much summer; fresh grass and greens overshadowed by dandelion heads and tree roots and perhaps an earthworm too. It was as though the season was exploding nastily in his mouth. 

   Flushing with recalled embarrassment, Eren resists hiding his face. Levi’s ever advised him it’s delicate. That it must be brewed with reverence, caution, and attention. 

 _It might be the king of green teas, but it fusses like a brat,_ Levi always says.

   Accurate as that may be, it was difficult to focus that evening. Levi sleeves were rolled up his arms, and above his relaxed features, he wore an immersed little frown. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, and the glow of the lantern and spring’s cobalt twilight stripped him of any mask which could hide his ease. 

   “You can help.” Levi turns and reclaims Eren’s hand. 

   Eren doesn’t back up. It is hot, just like Levi said, but the warmth radiating off him feels different, and Levi smells spicy and fresh and like citrus soap, and his cheeks and the revealed triangle of skin from his open shirt are pink. 

   He isn’t sure if it’s from the heat or because he was crowding him so close, but Levi is pretty like this. Pretty with the evening sky colored purply-pink-blue and jasmine blossoms peeking from the window’s edge behind him. Pretty enough Eren doesn’t want to move. 

 _So, so pretty,_ Eren thinks.

   “Thank you for giving me another chance,” he says. His free hand twitches against his thigh. He wants to touch Levi’s cheek so much he can barely stay still.

   Levi bites his lip, his gaze darting to their interlocked hands. “You’re …” Levi begins before whatever thoughts he has trail away along with the wind. 

   “I’ll mind the minutes better.” 

   Levi nods, and Eren brushes his thumb over his palm. The recruits down below are louder, and he sees two of them talking and looking up. Probably whispering about Captain Levi and Eren Jäger doing dull things like catching the cool breeze and looking out the window instead of frolicking ale-induced at the celebration.

   Glaring over Levi’s shoulder at the nosey little pricks, Eren shoots them a menacing look, then steps away, and releases Levi’s hand. “I promise I won’t fuck up this time.”

 

So far, Eren doesn’t make a mistake. He diligently resets the sandglass each time the grains deplete, and after the seventh turn, the grin on his face is beginning to hurt his cheeks. 

   “Perfect,” Levi says, almost breathless as he pours the spoonful’s worth of the first infusion into one of the little cups. Delicate, pale fingers nudge it toward Eren after extracting the last drop. 

   Eren marvels at its beautiful river-jade hue, eyes wide as he catches Levi’s gaze. Levi couldn’t be …

   Gyokuro is so rare, and Eren didn’t think he did that good of a job. “All for me?”

   With an upward nod of his head, Levi smirks, then tends to the waiting water. “You did well.”

   “But these are the best sips …”

   “Take it,” Levi says with a kick to Eren’s shin before he commences the next step in the brewing. 

   Suddenly, feeling conscious of his grin, and very aware of his heating skin, Eren pushes his hair behind his ear. This is the most treasured of all infusions; a gift, and one he won’t squander. 

   He wants to indulge now, but the precious liquid deserves to be admired. It needs to be stared at. Taken in. It requires a contemplative swirl in the miniature cup, and a careful appreciative inhale.

   Eren hums as the scent fills him. It smells like all the best parts of summer. Like raw nature, sunshine, and contentment. It reminds Eren of their willow tree, and lazy cloud watching through its breeze-tickled branches with Levi’s shoulder pressed to his. 

   Levi’s gaze meets his. His lips are barely curled, but his eyes are smiling before they flick away and refocus as he turns the sandglass. He stretches his leg to rest against Eren’s beneath the table.  

    _Drink it._

   Despite feeling a bit guilty, Eren doesn’t argue with the silent command. He doesn’t take it all in one gulp either, indulging in a half-sip, lips tingling with felicitous warmth as the mildly complex flavor spreads across his tongue.

   Licking his lips, Eren smiles, then frowns at the tiny cup. His chest twists with a prick of, _not right._   

   He knocks the cup against the back of Levi’s hand, holding the serving between his fingers, and speaks softly. “It’s made for sharing.”

   Eren’s expecting a debate when Levi looks up at him, expression impassive, and quietly thoughtful. He peers at the tea, cheeks pinking, then back at Eren, and gives him his tiny secret just-for-Eren-to-see smile. 

   “So it is.” He accepts the offer and drinks his portion, smiling as his eyes meet Eren’s. “Yes, perfect.”

   

Though the initial draught is always so good, there’s something to be said about sipping Gyokuro settled together in the chairs before Levi’s flameless hearth. And there’s something remarkably singular about enjoying the flavor on his tongue while watching Levi enjoy it too.

   More interesting is Levi’s half-opened button-down. 

   Levi’s a little sloppy or distracted or tired tonight. Eren watches a drip fall, sliding down the perfect white porcelain of the tiny teacup before catching on Levi’s bare chest. He wonders what it would taste like if he were to seize it from his skin with his mouth. 

   It’s out of the ordinary for Levi to lose a drop. 

   Eren flushes and hides behind his hand, then brushes his hair from his face as Levi catches it with a napkin. _Good,_ Eren thinks. He was near saying something stupid again and probably looks it since Levi is poking his toe with his own while wearing his what’s-going-on-in-your-head frown. 

   “Chess?” Eren asks and sips his own tea.

   “You look to be thinking hard enough for it.”

   Eren smiles and repositions himself, fingers tingling at the chance to best Levi. “You serious tonight?”

   “We’re drinking Gyokuro,” Levi begins, “so, yes.” He tips his cup toward Eren and then finishes off his last mouthful. Eren can barely tear his eyes away. 

   He blinks slowly. Assures himself it’s all right to gaze. Just enough to chase off the angry hurt, which tears deep in his heart. It’s only looking and watching and appreciating. He can’t harm Levi doing that. 

     _Three months left._

   Swallowing, he watches Levi’s throat, fascinated with the change in the shadow under his Adam’s apple. The dip of it, the way it smoothly finds its way back up. His skin is sensitive again, and he feels every brush of fabric and the chair leather with the smallest shift in his seat. It probably won’t help, but he searches for a distraction from the distraction of Levi. With this kind of concentration, there’s no way Eren is going to win tonight.

   Already accepting he’s going to get his arse kicked, Eren sighs. “Let’s get the last infusion going first.”

   Levi nods and tugs at his shirt. “Pajama’s too.”

 

Eren ends up with black and is already losing by his sixth turn. He frowns. He hates being black. Levi’s good with it, but Eren’s ever fared better with white. He doesn’t enjoy being on the defensive, especially not with how aggressive Levi is tonight. 

   As Eren moves out a knight, he bites his lip. Levi is smirking, and Eren hasn’t even pulled his fingers from the piece yet. “What?” he says, rolling his eyes.

   “Nothing.” Levi’s brows are somehow raised while his eyes crinkle. He smiles. “Sure you want to do that?”

   “No helping,” Eren says and rests his hand back in his lap. He stretches out, and like a pouting child, kicks Levi’s good ankle. “I don’t need your help to lose.”

   “So you don’t.”

   Levi takes a drink as he surveys the board. Of course, he has to look nice kicking Eren’s arse. And not a little nice, but very, very beautifully nice. 

   It’s too hot for shirts, and they’re both down to light pajama pants. Those look stunning on Levi too. The material is thin and sheer, almost gauzy and hides next to nothing. His imagination doesn’t help either. 

   He knows what Levi looks like underneath. How pale he is in places which never see any sun. How the arc of his backside curves below the two secret little dimples that collect droplets of water when he steps from the shower or bath. How the scar on his left knee almost touches the little freckle beside it.

   Eren wiggles in his chair, trying to rid himself of the warm ache in his belly. He can see the flex in Levi’s thighs each time he shifts in his chair, or crosses and uncrosses his legs. The skimpy summer pants aren’t tied tightly either, revealing the masculine jut of hip bones. The life-mapping scars which cross the dips and curves of his stomach muscles. The dark path of hair descending beneath Levi’s navel. He can see the shadow of the rest of the trail beneath thin ivory cotton on its way down. 

    _Don’t think about that_ , Eren tells himself. _Don’t think about drawing circles on the tender skin near there, or how silky the hair must be. Don’t think about what pretty sounds Levi might make if you touched._

_Not now … maybe you can have it when you return._

   Eren squirms, eyeing Levi as he shifts a pawn. It looks like a stupid move, but Levi never does stupid things during chess—he never does at all. 

   It’s most definitely a foolhardy move, but Eren falls into the trap with his eyes open, knowing exactly what he’s walking into, and captures Levi’s just moved pawn with one of his own. He grins and sets it next to the board. It’s his second captive. “There,” he says.

   “All right.” Levi doesn’t take long to shift a knight. The left side of his lips quirk as he brushes Eren’s shin with his toe.

   Eren’s not really throwing the game, but he doesn’t see a decent strategy, and the sooner it’s over, the sooner he can roll around on Levi’s crisp, cool sheets. He chooses the best move he can this time, then tries to distract Levi with actual talk instead of their silent-speak. 

   “We should bring Valtari a treat tomorrow.”

   “I don’t think I have anything _Varúð_ would like here.”

   Eren sighs and folds his legs beneath him. Levi’s fingers hovering over a rook are too enchanting, so he looks at the empty andirons in the hearth. “You have cheese,” he says, “I bet he’d like that.”

   “If we feed him, he’ll never leave us be.”

   Eren shrugs. “So what,” he says, “he’ll probably only hang around until he’s old enough to find a wife.”

   Snorting, Levi brushes imaginary dust from his forearm and pokes Eren’s ankle. “I don’t think cats marry.”

   “You know what I mean,” Eren says. “And where are his parents or his brothers and sisters? I haven’t seen any other cats around. He’s little still and probably lonely. He needs friends.”

   “So you want to bribe him into a friendship with my cheese?”

   “Yes.” Eren nods. “Can we?”

   He can already see how Levi’s going to put him in check, but there’s no way out of it Eren can envision, so he brazenly moves his bishop.

   Levi doesn’t answer until Eren’s fingers retreat. 

   “We’ll bring him a little,” he says, smirking, then reiterates, “a little. I’m not sure that’s even good for him.” 

   Eren grins. “Okay, a little.”

   

With a renewed sense of fight, Eren wars with Levi through the remainder of the game, succumbing to loss in another four moves. He’d liked to think Levi was being kind not decimating him in two or three turns, but Levi seems distracted. He’s been that way a lot lately. 

   Tonight, he’s been wiping his brow, rearranging his crossed legs in his chair, and tapping his fingertips on the rim of his empty teacup. 

   He’s been watching Eren more than usual, and with a depth to his gaze that’s magnetic. Penetrating. Perhaps questioning.

   Eren lifts his eyes. Levi’s cheeks are flushed. There’s something about his expression too. It feels like longing again.

   His chest hurts, and his body resists cooperating, but Eren averts his eyes. Tries to breath through the constriction.

   Levi sighs, stands, and stretches, and Eren tries not to look at his stomach and his beautiful scars as he retrieves their teacups. 

   Eren closes his eyes. The sorrow and desire are battling in a war beneath his tingling skin. Right now, his feelings mix about as well as nut butter spread over sausage. 

   “Tired?” he asks, pursing his lips. He knows that’s not what it is, but what else can Eren say? _Let me kiss you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?_ wouldn’t be appropriate.

   Gazing out the window, Levi squints and runs the back of his hand over his forehead.

   Eren’s only answer is a huff as Levi gives his shin a gentle kick on his way to the kitchenette.

   Levi won’t admit he needs sleep—not with words. 

   Eren doesn’t need them anyway, and he can’t ask for what he wants.

   So, with a mild groan; instead, he silently follows to help Levi with washing before they shuffle to Levi’s bed and then turn in for the night.


	5. A Very Sad Wank Upon Levi's Bed

Eren wakes with a whine. It is still dark. The crickets still chirp. The breeze-swaying curtains tickle the back of his exposed calf and thigh.

   Without checking the right side of the bed, he knows he is alone, but a dewy warmth clings to the sheets where Levi lay not long before.

   Fingers twisting in the bedding’s retained heat, Eren buries his nose in the corner of Levi’s pillow with a grumbled, “fuck …”

   He was dreaming. A marvelous, heart-soothing dream. Levi’s lips and tongue and teeth were on his throat and then on his chin and then his shoulders. On his mouth. Everywhere. One hand was bruising his hip in its grip while rough slender fingers traced his cheek. They were connected. Levi was inside him, and his eyes were gleaming, beautiful and heavy with devoted want as he held his gaze.

   “No … no … no …” Eren whispers. He tugs harder at the bedding, closing his eyes tighter.

   His face rubs at the bedclothes, and he shakes his head as though it will expel the need. It has been near two months since Eren had one of these dreams.

   He aches.

   His penis is so hard it hurts, but he resists the urge to touch even as his hips twitch against the mattress.

   Levi’s familiar footsteps sound in the living area, light and soft with quiet early morning consideration. The little teapot clunks on the countertop before Eren hears a tin being pried open.

   Eren doesn’t restrain himself because of Levi. It’s not as though he hasn’t gotten himself off in Levi’s bed before. The times when Levi’s left the room to start his morning routine at an hour Eren still believes is far too early for any human to endure. He’s never caught him … though in the past, there have been times when Eren has hoped he would.

   When he was younger and would envision Levi walking in, striding to the bed only to loom over him with a ‘tch,’ before he would swat away Eren’s stroking hand and replace it with his own. And then Eren would finally taste Levi’s strength, and feel Levi’s touch in the places he only imagined it before, and Eren would care for Levi how he’s always wanted in return.

   Since knowing he will leave, Eren hasn’t touched himself in Levi’s bed. He hasn’t wanked at all. It feels like it will make it worse, and where once, it was cheeky and defiant, yet wonderfully sneaky and as perfect as only imaging could be, now it feels wrong.

   He rubs his cheek against Levi’s pillow, sniffling, tears blurring the darkness, inhaling his scent, catching a whimper, biting on it to make it as quiet as he can. He throbs and stings. He can’t have the real thing; not like this. No chance anymore.

    _Just a little bit longer,_ he thinks, heat gathering beneath his skin, hips already rolling without thought. _Just a month._ He’ll give himself a month to trick himself, to pretend it’s not happening. And one more time like this. One last selfish, childish indulgence with Levi’s warmth and scent enveloping him as he gives in to his unflagging weakness.

   Eren shuts his eyes, grasps the sheets like they are salvation, and resigns himself to the act.

   The bed isn’t a bed anymore. It’s Levi, the little spoon in his arms, and Eren is rubbing himself, slick and oily against his arse, arm draped over Levi’s waist, stroking him. Pumping.

   As there always has been before, now, there are no clothes between them. Their skin is sweaty, their hearts are pounding, their breaths are stuttered and heavy. Levi is warm, and he makes the softest little sound when Eren gasps and groans, kisses him under his ear and then buries himself deep inside him.

   His lips skim against the warm, sleep-wrinkled pillowcase, imagining it’s Levi’s neck, his hips jerking into the soft bedding, needing and hurting and so wanting it to be real. He curses reality, muffling his moans and sobs in goose down, giving over to the reverie circumstances will make sure he’ll never be allowed to have.

   But he indulges. Holding the pillow as though it were Levi, pressing his face hard into its yielding fluff while he fucks the mattress with abandon. He cannot listen for the sound of Levi’s feet anymore, cannot smell the scent of anything but Levi’s summer musk and soap. He drives himself forward, violating their sacred space, bangs, hits, smacks supple linen until he bursts.

   Steam fills his nostrils, his hands are clenched so tight they hurt, his dick still twitches in his lose drawers as though it couldn’t care less it’s driven him to ruination.

   It obtained precisely what it wanted; useless release, unsatisfied satisfaction, loveless love. If Levi wouldn’t somehow know, Eren would punch the appendage until it would never rise again.

   “Fucking damn it,” he whispers through heaving breaths.

   His eyes are stingy and strained. Vapors obscure his vision like a cloud of nasty cream in tea before he rubs at his eyelids, grits his teeth, and compresses all his pain and shame into a ball of misery and swallows it.

   It doesn’t help, only makes it worse, and now Eren’s lying in Levi’s bed listening to the scrape of the chair over floorboards as Levi seats himself at the kitchen table while attempting to stem his tears.

   He needs to get up, clean himself off, and change before Levi comes to wake him.

    _No more. No more crying. You’re not allowed anymore,_ Eren tells himself.

   Resolute, he sniffs and chews open the crack in his lip.

   No more fucking crying …

    _Crying isn’t going to get you anywhere soon._


	6. Lunch with Friends

The next week goes by in a rush. Too fast. Eren’s sandglass, already turned, is dwindling.

   Sometimes, the laughs in the stables while playing with Valtari-Varúð, evening chess, and his time with Levi under the willow are enough for Eren to almost forget. If only for a few hours.

   When he forgets, it’s easier to pretend …

   

Levi hasn’t been so good with them recently, but one could say he is an expert with masks and shields and intricately crafted walls. Eren is too. True, his heart is always on his proverbial sleeve, but when required, Eren is able to hide portions of himself as well. It’s what he’s been doing since spring.

   He runs his fingers through his hair, using a loose lock to twirl it in a messy knot at the back of his head. He’s sweaty, he’s smelly, and he’s not quite sure if he wants food or a bath. Then again, it’s been too long since he’s eaten with his friends—his family.

   Rubbing his perspiring nape with his handkerchief, he pauses and looks out across the river at the town, stomach growling when he spies children out on the outcroppings, throwing bread to the ducks and smiles.

   It would be so easy to be that young again. Careless of nations and titans and walls and war, he thinks before sighing and moving on.

   He drags himself through the humidity, past the gardens, over the cobbles, and around the corner. There, outside the entrance to the mess, is the paperboy. That obnoxious little paper kid—whose name Eren does not remember—flapping the day’s news in his hand.

   He would have found himself in a brawl with him when he was nine.

   He’s always there at dinner time, just inside the western gate, plying his papers on the troops, who are more than happy to clamor for the rag just to have something to chatter about.

   Today’s headline is a conspiracy theory. One Eren wishes weren’t so untruthfully true. “A secret weapon! A big weapon! An army of shifters! Paradis scientists have cracked the code on creating them!”

   Eren shakes his head, ignores the paper brat as he passes him.

   Yelena got him into this mess, or rather, Zeke … or his father; Grisha, the Owl, Marley, his ancestors, Ymir. He follows the line of the meandering chaos, the disaster, and decides it doesn’t matter. It’s his chaos now. He inherited it. Not only Eren but all of Eldia. The world. He’ll repair it. He vowed when he was ten to kill all the titans and he will; himself and Armin included if he must.

   Eren’s the secret weapon. He’s the army. An army of one. A rogue.

   

Inside the mess, it is loud. A babeldom of laughter and cheers, mumbles and mutters, and the occasional piercing squeals. Just as Eren expected.

   He winds through the throng to the lunch line, eyeing the room for familiarity.

   His table in the corner is the same as always. He can see through the mass of dipping heads and waving arms that Hanji is missing from the foot, though her place is left open and waiting. Armin and Mikasa look to be in quiet conversation, and Sasha is halfway out of her chair, leaning over the table while Jean laughs, and Connie tries to pull her back into her seat.

   Eren squints across the hall at a shrill note. Offkey and dissonant. Some moron is surrounded by a handful of onlookers … playing a damn lute? The dining room’s gone mad without Hanji or Levi here.

   Groaning at the invasive plucking, Eren takes a tray, mouth watering while he waits to be given his portion of savory pork stew.

   “Eren! Hey.”

   Eren runs his hand down his face. It’s Floch. Of course, he would run into him.

   Glancing over his shoulder, Eren notes Floch’s little entourage is in tow as well. Five morons at Floch’s back looking as though they were lined up by descending height, beginning with the string bean to the left and ending with the walking and breathing big toe at Floch’s right.

   Eren gives a curt nod, hoping Floch doesn’t try to start a conversation. Sometimes these idiots make themselves too obvious. “Floch.”

   Floch elbows Eren’s arm, inclining his head as though they’re going to talk secrets. “So how’s your summer going?” His eyes dart about. He looks so damn shifty tugging at the neck of his too tight shirt while flexing his jaw. Floch’s one of those people who likes to pull his brow down toward his nose and hold his arms out at his sides farther than necessary as though it would give the illusion of larger muscles. At least he fixed his hair and trimmed that arsy-varsy whippy-doo that sat atop his head like a little hat which didn’t want to be there.

   Eren doesn’t remember when Floch cut it, and his hair still looks like he has a dead, bleached squirrel adhered to his head, but it’s an improvement. Mild as it may be.

   “Been relaxing?” Floch prods when Eren hasn’t answered. “Must be nice.”

   Eren wants to tell him he hasn’t relaxed since mid-spring and his summer’s going like shit. Floch thinks this is exciting, but he’s not the one who has to travel across the ocean, sever his own leg, and kill what will probably amount to thousands of people. It’s not as though Eren will have the luxury of minimizing collateral damage, nor the time to fuss over his hair.

   “Fine, yours?” Eren grits his teeth and eyes Floch’s rabble of followers looking at him like he’s Ymir herself. The stubby blond one’s eyes are positively gleaming, and he seems like he’s holding in a salute—that, or a fart.

   Floch rubs his hands together, grinning. “Busy, if you know what I mean.”

   Eren’s surprised he doesn’t wink.

   And no, Eren’s not really sure what Floch means. Whether it’s some kind of innuendo he doesn’t understand or if he’s talking about the plans. He rolls his eyes and slides down the queue, grateful when he’s handed his bowl of stew. Now he can escape.

   “Don’t get too excited,” Eren whispers, taking two rolls. He’ll end up giving one to Sasha anyway.

   He wants to tell Floch to disband this little gang he’s formed, or at least to stay far from him. People could become suspicious, he would like to hiss. Especially with how vocal Floch’s minions can be. They don’t say anything openly about the plans or their dislike of the current official strategy, but they can be fanatical when it comes to Eren. Eren may be the one who will pave the road to their liberation, but they’ll never be liberated of their ignorance-driven fear.

    Eren longs for the old days when Floch couldn’t stand him.

   “Don’t worry, Eren,” Floch says, puffing himself up like a cock in a henhouse. “I’ll see you around.”

   “Yeah.”

   Eren shrugs and heads to his table. He really hopes he doesn’t see Floch around anywhere. He’s supposed to be staying away.

   

He feels a bit foreign as he crosses the hall. As if he were visiting a place he has scarcely been before, remembering a dream, or perhaps looking through another’s eyes.

   There was a time when shared meals were a refuge. Armin’s smile would calm him. Connie would make him laugh, Sasha too as she would battle for his extra bread. He would bicker with Jean, and roll his eyes at Mikasa’s mothering. Levi’s presence always warmed his cheeks, and Hanji’s cackling, yet brief, manic interruptions left him shaking his head. It was sometimes irritating and too boisterous, but it was home.

   “Eren!” Armin calls, then frowns at Jean who is in Levi’s chair.

   Jean raises his hand, relenting. “I’m going.”

   They slide around the table, shifting until the head and the seat beside it is empty. “Thanks,” Eren says, urge to be overly polite winning out after his recent extended absence. An apology.

   He looks at Levi’s empty place, wondering unhelpfully if he genuinely enjoys sitting there. At the end, like the father. No one right beside him, thrust into the center, somehow made a bit bare.

   Biting his lip, Eren sets down his tray and sits, then glares three tables down at the arse with the lute.

   “Been a while,” Armin says and passes him the bowl of potatoes. “How’re the stables treating you?”

   “Not bad,” Eren says while piling his plate.

   “Must be relaxing,” Armin says. He’s making that expression which they all make. The one that looks the same on all their different faces. The one when they don’t quite believe what they’re saying.

   “Yeah, it’s quiet.”

   “You’ve been scarce.” Mikasa looks like she wants to say more.

   He’d like to tell her to fuck off, though settles for a glare instead. “The stables are a lot of work.”

   She only hums.

   “Catch anyone fucking in there yet?” Connie asks. He waggles his eyebrows. Exaggerated and suggestive.

   “No.” Eren shakes his head. He doesn’t care to see that again.

   “Heard Randall and Simon got caught in there by Levi last week,” Jean smirks and twirls his fork between his fingers.

   Armin pushes a lock of blond hair behind his ear, whispering, “Birdie was there too.”

   “Those their names?” Eren swallows and shrugs. “I didn’t know who they were.”

   Sasha gasps at Eren, riveted, her usually animated and raucous voice dropping low. “So it’s true?”

   “It’s true.” Not that Eren is a gossip, far from it, but they were idiots to go in there in the first place, and Sasha asked. He tends back to stirring his stew, focusing on a mushy pea pirouetting around a flaccid carrot. It tastes like grey. Not like beautiful, sparkling icy-grey, but like yellow-blah-dreary-dismal ‘gray.’

   “Come on, they’ve got no place else to go, Sasha,” Connie says.

   “True,” Jean interjects. He doesn’t look at Eren. “Heard Levi was sort of harsh though.”

   Eren stuffs his mouth and chews the gloop through the grit in his teeth, wanting to drown everyone out. He’s never been good with these conversations. Ones that revolve around Levi. One’s that revolve around defending him. In the old days, he would simply be called a ‘kissarse,’ though for the last few years it’s shifted to filthy jokes and kissy noises as if they were thirteen-year-olds again. It makes him sometimes wonder if they’ve all been too busy with war to grow up.

   The voice which tells him to keep his mouth shut and eat his slop recedes as everyone’s eyes bore into him. Penetrating, waiting, expecting. Eren sets his fork down, wincing when lute-guy breaks a string. “They fucked up the hay. Made a mess.”

   “They were doing it on the hay?” Connie asks, cheeks reddening with repressed laughter.

   Eren nods. “Right on it.”

   “They were naked?” Sasha asks, slinking lower, hands planted on the table with a fork in her left fist and a knife in her right. She’s not even paying attention to her meal.

   “Didn’t you hear, Sasha?” Jean says and wipes his mouth. “They were stuffing her from both ends.”

   Mikasa’s nose wrinkles. “Disgusting.”

   Eren groans. He thought that was what he saw, though couldn’t make heads or tails of it that night. Not with his shock. Not with the distraction. Not while his eyes were fixed on Levi cracking his neck and his long strides across the stable, his entire body rife with his restrained ferocity. Watching Levi made Eren’s chest thump while all the muscles in his body went taut with need. He tingles just thinking of it now.

   Stifling a whine, he rubs his forehead. What the hell is wrong with him?

   “Disgusting? Yeah, it was,” he says, scratching his neck. “But it’s not a big deal. They’re lucky Eurus didn’t get pissed.”

   Armin nods and Eren wonders why it always feels like he’s swooping in to save him. “Eurus has a temper.”

   “That’s right,” Jean begins, “only ones allowed to get any in there are you two.” He opens another button on his shirt, cocking the right corner of his lips.

   During times like this, Eren doesn’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter that even if he and Levi ever did, they would never in the stables. It’s filthy, it smells, anybody could walk in, and the horses would see. He feels his pulse speed up, tries to dig up a laugh, and sprinkles too much salt into his bowl.

   “Jean …” Mikasa says.

   Eren doesn’t need her to rescue him either. He tears off a bit of bread, and glares at Jean as he chews, hyper-aware of everyone staring and waiting again as he swallows. Apparently, Eren must say the most exciting things. He can feel the prickle of challenge on his skin. “How come you never say shit like that in front of Levi?”

   Jean laughs. “Because he would kick my arse.”

   “And I won’t?”

   “Aww fuck, Eren,” Jean says, throwing his napkin on the table. “I’m just joking around. You have no sense of humor anymore.”

   Eren frowns. “Bullshit!” Jean’s one to talk, his jokes have always been nothing but dross.

   “Mate …” Connie begins, and Eren can tell by the shift in his seat, he’s kicked Jean under the table. “You’re not always as funny as you think.”

   “Sure I am.”

   Eren wants to tell Jean to shut the hell up and button his dumb shirt. So what if he’s sprouted a patchy beard and some chest hair in the last year. It’s not as if everyone wants to see it, nor gives a shit. He looks like he glued a bearskin to his torso.

   “No,” Connie says, “now me, I’m actually funny.”

   “No need to get personal. I was trying to make the guy laugh, Con.” Jean folds his arms and gets that odd thoughtful Jean look that makes Eren want to flee the mess hall.

   Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Mikasa will follow, especially since it has to do with Jean. Eren also hates the idea that Jean could get under his skin so deeply he’d take off like a bitch.

   “Why’d you have to be so touchy anyway, Eren?” Jean asks. “Something up with Levi?”

   “No,” Eren says and chokes down a mushy carrot without chewing.

   Mikasa is side-eyeing Jean, and Jean’s eyes are flicking to every occupant of the table besides Eren. Wonderful. Once again, they’ve all been gossiping about him and Levi.

   Over the years, Mikasa and Armin both have attempted to engage him in squirm-inducing conversations about their relationship. Now they’re all ganging up on him.

   “You two didn’t go to the party for the new graduates,” Jean persists, despite Mikasa’s hand fastening around his arm. “Thought maybe you two had a tift.”

   Eren grits his teeth. “We played chess.” His foot taps while he tries to keep his rage in check.

   Jean shakes his head. “That’s all you two do.”

   “So what?” Eren barks.

   Jean smoothly leans closer, still with that _let's talk, I’m just trying to help you, buddy_ look that Eren would like to punch off his face. Since pairing up with Mikasa, he seems to think he’s an expert on all things amorous. “If that’s what you two like,” he says, raising a brow, “but usually people do stuff when they’re together. Mikasa and I do stuff.”

   Eren scoffs. He doesn’t care what they do.

   Why does he have to explain this to anyone? He can’t even explain it to himself, yet his friends act as though he and Levi are a dysfunctional old married couple who need their sporadic meddling interventions. Why do they all care so much? It’s hard enough not confessing every time Levi looks at him as though he were asking him to. Why can’t they keep their noses out of his confusing business and leave him alone?

   “You two do _stuff,_ good for you,” Eren says and looks at Mikasa, who is vibrating with evident annoyance.

   Jean looks too cocky-casual for Eren’s liking. “Yeah, like go for walks and dinner, and dance at parties. Ya know, _stuff._ ”

   “Glad you clarified that,” Eren says. He points his fork in Jean’s direction and balances on the back legs of his chair. “But it looks to me like the only _stuff_ you do is piss her off.”

   “Eren …” Mikasa says, expression softening as much as it can.

   “Mikasa, it’s fine.” Eren rubs his forehead, it’s beginning to hurt, and his eyes are throbbing. He should never have tried going to lunch. “Why don’t you find something better to talk about? I have enough to deal with without your fuckheaded questions.”

   Jean puts his hands up, relenting. “If you say so.”

   “Sure, Eren,” Connie pipes up, and Eren almost wants to hug him for it. “So, how are the stables treating you?”

   “Yeah.” Armin’s eyes flick nervously. “You never minded stable duty, Eren. You must like it better there?” he says, attempting to finish steering the conversation.

   Eren shrugs. “Smells like shit, but it’s better than baking in the sun.”

   With the conversation about naked people and stable sex and him and Levi and their relationship or whatever it is effectively ended, Sasha scrapes up her last spoonful of stew, eyes glimmering and wide. Eren’s surprised she pauses before she drags her bread through the remains of her gravy. “I heard Scraps hangs around there.” It’s said around a mouthful and leaves Eren snorting with a roll of his eyes while ignoring Mikasa’s sidelong glance.

   He reaches for the butter. “Who’s Scraps?”

   “The HQ kitten,” Jean says. “Little silver and black tabby.”

   Eren huffs. He can already feel the debate twitching on his tongue. “Oh, you mean Valtari.”

   “Scraps.” Jean leans over the table and grins. What the hell is his problem today?

   “That’s a stupid fucking name,” Eren says. “How can you be such a ninny!” At least Levi’s name for Valtari is decent, though Eren would argue—wrong. But _Scraps?_ It’s insulting and lazy and doesn’t begin to fit Valtari’s regal, yet playfully fierce personality.

   “That hurts, pal.” Jean pats his furry chest, feigning injury. “He hangs around outside the kitchen searching the rubbish bins, it’s the perfect name.”

   Eren’s fingers dig into his little loaf of bread. Four years ago he probably would have thrown it at Jean. His crappy beard would be full of crumbs. It’s just a name. It’s only a stray cat, but Eren’s already come to think of him as his and Levi’s friend. “He spends most of his time in the stables with us.”

   “He spends a lot of time spraying by the kitchen too.”

   “I hope he sprays you.” Eren scowls into his murky bowl of lunch when Connie laughs, and Armin sighs. Aside from that, everyone else is silent, but he can see Mikasa peering at him from between wisps of fringe. She wets her lips, and he braces himself.

   “Eren,” she says, “it’s just a cat.”

   “No, he isn’t.” His fork clatters into his bowl, splattering stew on both he and Armin.

   Ignoring the gravy on his shirt, Armin prods. “Eren, are you okay?” He rights Eren’s cutlery and pokes at the crushed roll in Eren’s hand with his spoon like he was prodding a dead animal with a stick to check for signs of life.

   Why does Armin always have to be like this? Kind and patient. Putting up with his bullshit and his mood swings. Sometimes he wonders why they even want to be around him. Why would they? Why does Levi?

   “He looks pale,” someone says, but Eren isn’t sure who. They could be across the room for all he knows. Maybe it was the obnoxious lutist.  

   Pressure swells in his chest. He’ll miss them all when he’s gone. And what if something goes wrong or the others don’t come to help, and Eren never returns … is this how he wants them to remember him? A sideways arsehole ruining lunch.

   He hands Armin a napkin but keeps his eyes planted on the murdered roll in his hand. “I’m fine. I just … I didn’t sleep well.” It’s become such a perfect excuse. True, but so far from everything, it feels just like a lie.

   “Don’t worry about it.” For the moment, Armin seems placated.

   Mikasa still worries her mouth and stares. Eren can see everyone else from beneath his eyelashes as his vision cuts between his meal and the occupants of the table.

   “It’s all right,” Connie says, “the heat’s been getting on everyone’s nerves.”

   If only it were that simple.

   “Where’s Levi?” Sasha asks. Eren was wondering when that question would poke its way into the conversation.

   Mimicking normalcy, he tends back to his food and tries to eat. Stirring what’s beginning to remind him of mud, he finds a chunk of onion and shoves it in his mouth, not inclined to speak until everyone else is concentrating on their meal again as well.

   Satisfied when he hears the click-clank of cutlery, Eren replies while still staring into his whirlpool of meat and meat juice and vegetables. “Some idiot fucked up the hay delivery, got it everywhere,” Eren says, “Levi was going to sort it out.” He adds, “He’ll be here soon,” as if saying it will make it so.

   Mikasa is still examining him, watching, hawk-like, overly worried. It’s not the same fret Levi has. It feels different, less subtle, and familiar. Prickly. Which makes no sense because Eren has known her much longer. It’s like a drill though. A shiny bit spinning, impaling him. Invading him.

   “Where’s Hanji?” he asks for lack of anything better to say.

   “In her office as usual,” Jean says. “She’s been spending more time there lately.”

   “Hmm.” That might not be good. She has a tendency to retreat, obsessively pouring over files and papers and books, sometimes lamenting Erwin leaving her with this task. Perhaps Eren should visit her soon, or spend extra time with her next time he practices shifting. He could stop in the market and buy her some of those cookies she likes so much. She probably hasn’t been eating. “Someone should bring her lunch,” Eren says.

   “I can,” Sasha says, “Con and I are heading back that direction anyway.”

   Mikasa pipes up. “I’m not sure you can be trusted.”

   “I would never.” Sasha frowns. “The Commander needs her food too, besides,” she adds, reaching toward Eren’s tray, “Eren always gives me his extra.”

   Part of him wants to say, _not today._ He can see Levi frowning about it, hear the gentle scolding, feel the plate of extra biscuits and apple slices thrust into his hands. His lunch tastes like paper though or some other such pulpy mash. He’s not going to eat it.

   The sound of the cursed instrument dies along with another of its strings. Freed from the torturous melody, he rubs the back of his neck where he can feel Levi’s conjured glare and relents. “Just take it, Sash.”

   “Take what?” he hears Levi say, and at once Eren’s heart both throbs and settles. At least the twitch in his left pinky-finger does.

   “Eren’s extra bread,” Mikasa says as Levi sits.

   Eren should kick her hard in the shin and call her a tattletale. He would call her a bitch, but the backlash is too much of a hassle today. Instead, Eren narrows his eyes with a disrelished glance and angles his leg, so his knee is barely touching Levi’s under the table. _I don’t want to be here._

   Levi blinks at him, his eyes are more piercingly concerned than usual. He tosses his own roll to Sasha with a throw that’s velocity is a bit unkind. “Choke on it.”

   Sasha squeals. “I will, thanks.”

   Levi kicks Eren beneath the table. _Eat._

   He was so hungry earlier. The food smelled so good, but with each mouthful, the flavor diminished, the texture morphed from tender to pitiful, and the color faded until it looked like it was captured in one of those hueless photographs. Eren smiles faintly, catching a whiff of seasoning as he watches Levi take his first spoonful. Still, he would prefer apple and cheese sandwiches under their tree, or better yet, Levi’s summer chicken soup at the rickety table in his quarters.

   “It’s nice we’re all here,” Sasha says after she’s finished Levi’s roll.

   Armin shrugs. “Except for the Commander.”

   “Missing meals again?” Levi asks. He scratches at the back of his undercut, and Eren can already see the wheels turning.

   Eren’s not sure if he’s ever seen so many people wring their hands and shift uncomfortably at once.

   “Has she?” Levi repeats.

   Armin folds his napkin into a complicated little diamond. “It’s been a week and a half,” he says. “We’ve been bringing her food. Taking turns checking on her. She says she’s onto something.”

   “She’s always onto something,” Levi mutters.

   The constriction winds tighter in Eren’s chest as he looks at Levi.

   “We brought her clean uniforms,” Mikasa offers, not looking at Eren.

   “And Sash and I brought her soap,” Connie says.

   “Tch.” Levi presses his hand to his forehead. “She won’t use it. She’s probably filthy by now.”

   “I know it’s a pain in the arse,” Jean begins, “but—”

   “I’ll take care of it.” With that, Levi glances at Eren, then refocuses on his lunch.

   Hiding behind his loosening fringe, Eren follows suit, stirring his stew until it looks more disgusting than it did before. He can hear the screaming already. The curses and threats. Hanji’s face twisting in frustration. That unsettling cold shield which settles over Levi as he performs this duty. Sometimes it seems as though he takes it more seriously than he did battle. This delves somewhere deeper.

   Today isn’t going how Eren planned.

   It was supposed to be another quiet evening arguing over Valtari-Varúð’s name while kicking Levi’s toes and drinking Sencha. They should play chess, and Eren should be soaking up all the lovely moments with Levi he can.

   Glaring at the pepper shaker, Eren sighs.

   Childish objections are all that sit in his mouth, so he thrusts his spoon into it, and until his bowl is empty, musters the best conversation he can between bites.


	7. Curses, a Tantrum, and the Bathtub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [GlaucidiumPasserinum](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/) rendered a wonderful drawing for this chapter. I was thrilled she chose to illustrate one of the darker scenes from this work, and she did an amazing job capturing it as it looked to me when Eren was telling me this part of the story. As I've said before, she was amazing to work with, so please give her some love on her creation which can be viewed [here](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/post/185975579158/broken-and-bloodied) and on the [closeups post](https://glaucidiumpasserinum.tumblr.com/post/186024987138/broken-and-bloodied-close-ups) she was generous enough to share.

“I still can’t believe Jean’s calling him Scraps,” Eren says as Levi holds open the door. His clothes are dirty, the air is too hot, and they’re both covered in dust and sweat, yet Levi’s room settles on his skin like a cleansing shield, siphoning most of the tensity that sits as a knot in his neck.

   “His name’s Varúð.” Levi opens the window.

   “Valtari.”

   The debate’s been going since they returned to the stables, and Eren’s thankful he made one right decision today and didn’t bring up the cat’s name after Levi joined them at lunch. It was hard enough to restrain himself without more arguing over Valtari’s name with everyone at once. He’s tired of the discussion.

   Besides, this is what Eren wanted all day. To be in Levi’s quarters, unwinding, touched by the evening breeze through his window. Eren wishes they could stay for the night and not leave again, but Levi has that look in his eyes, and his jaw and shoulders are tight.

   “You’re not going to let it go, are you?” Eren asks.

   “Got any of those shortbreads left?”

    _Shortbreads_ … Eren knows what those are for. There’s no way to get out of it. “Fuck …”

   What is Levi going to do while he’s gone?

   Eren doesn’t help Levi wash Hanji, that onus is solely Levi’s to bear, but Eren stays outside the bathroom for moral support. He dries Hanji when Levi is finished and wound with the quiet despair of his obligation. He combs Hanji’s hair while Levi paces and drinks tea, keeping his voice very soft and low as Hanji winds down and finds her way back to herself. He makes sure they are both all right.

   Soon, Levi won’t have anyone to help him.

   “I left them in your cupboard. There’s half a tin,” Eren eventually says.

   “That’ll be enough for her.” Levi strides to his bedroom, and as Eren’s accepts he isn’t getting his way, a flannel comes flying from the doorway and hits him in the face just to rub it in. “Clean up. I washed your clothes.”

   “Damn it.” He can’t even escape to his room to grouse and curse and act like a brat. He sighs. Almost all his clean clothes have ended up in Levi’s quarters. Not that it’s out of the ordinary, and he likes that it isn’t, but it would be nice to have a moment alone to punch his pillow or perhaps the wall. Hanji needs their help. She’s once again covered in grime and scum and dirt, and fuck, Eren is selfish, but he wants Levi all to himself tonight.

   He needs it.

   As he stands in Levi’s living area, staring at the empty hearth, Eren closes his eyes, refusing to open them as the sound of Levi’s small steps approach. His hand is on his shoulder, and Eren takes a breath.

   “You’re grouchy,” Levi says, “this is a decent distraction. Besides, she smells like a fucking leach field.” He leaves off the, _I need you._

   Levi never says it, but Eren can feel it in the way he clings in the aftermath these nights. He can see it in the dark circles under his eyes. He can sense his solemn heartache later in bed when Levi presses his forehead to his chest, and his hands hold tighter, and his fingertips dig.

   Eren relishes the closeness, though not Levi’s suffering. That thought, too, sends a pang of guilt through him as he brushes his fingers over Levi’s.

   “I don’t mind helping,” he says before heading to Levi’s washroom.

   “You’ve had a trying day.”

   “Yeah.”

   Every day is a trying day. Trying and long, except the days that go too fast. The days he thinks of his sandglass and its contents pittering in a lazy race to nothing. At least bathing Hanji will slow down the evening.

   

The flannel and even Levi’s luxurious soap aren’t enough to wash the grit away to Eren’s satisfaction. He sniffs, wrinkling his nose at the scent of dirt and musky sweat. Only a few more hours, and like every night when Levi tosses Hanji in the bath, they will take their own in Levi’s quarters when they return.

   Levi’s standing in the tub, scrubbing his armpits. Eren’s surprised he hasn’t said anything about how awful he smells.

   “What’s wrong now?” Levi asks.

   “I fucking stink!”

   Leaning toward him, Levi inhales and raises a curious brow. “You don’t smell like horse shit anymore.”

   “No,” Eren says and groans, “just like fucking ball sweat and dirty armpits.”

   Levi smirks. “You smell like a man.”

   “Ugh.” Eren snatches his towel from the hook, ignoring Levi’s snort. “Perfect.”

   He tries not to think too hard about Levi’s comment as he strides into the bedroom, irritation draining and a small smile touching his lips when he sees his clothes neatly folded and piled at the end of Levi’s bed. He’s set out a light pullover, a pair of Eren’s casual pants that he wears in the evenings and on weekends, and a clean set of drawers.

   Still, he wonders as his fingers run across the neat little squares of clothing if Levi likes that—when he smells like ‘a man.’ Whenever they get dirty or do any hard work, Levi always bathes before bed, but on more leisurely days when he doesn’t, Eren relishes the scent of Levi’s neck, of his chest, his skin. Even when he’s gotten a little sweaty. He smells more Levi-ish on those evenings, and Eren sniffs at him when they lie in bed as nonchalantly as he can.

   Eren shakes his head, retrieves his drawers, glaring down when his traitorous penis twitches. He needs to stop thinking about Levi-scent and Levi-scented things and get dressed, or he’s going to end up with a problem.

   In the past, he’s been able to ignore it, but in the last year, it’s horrible. Maybe it’s because he’s still a horny teenager after all. Unlike Eren, most of his peers are always talking about sex. Especially the guys. Though they aren’t with Levi. Or anyone like him for that matter … and well, Levi’s a bit strange.

   Fingers twisting in the fabric of his underwear, Eren frowns. Most of his clothes are in Levi’s bureau … or Levi’s hamper … or Levi’s basket. As far as Eren’s concerned, they live together regardless they don’t do all the things people living together tend to do.

   Eren pulls on his drawers, wondering if it’s more difficult because it seems Levi finally wants to be closer too.

   He stares through the window at the oak branches swaying. He shouldn’t think of his wants anymore. His body shouldn’t react how it does, but he can’t stop it.

   Even his shortbread biscuits are in Levi’s cupboard.

   Maybe they shouldn’t be.

   He has to go. It isn’t fair.

   Eren clenches his eyes shut, and puts on his trousers.

   It’s another thing to ponder on a different evening, or maybe when they’re done with Hanji. He finishes getting himself dressed and throws Levi’s drawers at him when he comes striding naked out of the bathroom. Retaliation for the flannel, and an excellent way to make Levi cover his too tempting body. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

They don’t check Hanji’s quarters after they leave, and Levi, as always, doesn’t bother announcing them when they arrive at her office. A knock only gives her a chance to get her hackles up sooner.

   Eren shivers. It’s raining, the wind was whipping up on the way to her building. Static is building in the air, and the thunder is about to crack. Fitting it seems, as they both glare and stand before her office entrance. These are the kinds of nights Eren most loves to be in Levi’s arms. He mourns he isn’t in them now.

   Levi sighs, reaching toward the handle, and Eren wonders if Levi feels the same sense of ‘waste’ he does.

    _Ready?_ Levi glances at Eren.

   Eren nods. _Yeah._

   “Ignore her bullshit,” Levi says, “no coddling.”

    _Fine._ Eren frowns. “It’s not easy.”

   Levi squeezes Eren’s hand for a moment. “I know, but it only makes it worse for her.”

   “Yeah,” Eren says, pressing the tips of his fingers to his eyes. He takes a breath. _I’m ready._

   “Sure you got your balls?”

   Eren tries to find a smile … Levi jokes a lot lately.

   He looks at his fly. “Got ‘em.”

   “Hold onto them,” Levi says, opening the door. He strides in, and Eren follows behind, then shuts it. Hanji glares at the satchel over Levi’s shoulder before her face distorts into something close to a sneer.

   “Go away,” she says, pushing her glasses up her greasy nose before she buries it back in her papers.

   “Not likely,” Levi says and positions himself at the side of her desk like he always does. He crosses his arms, looming over Hanji, looking—feeling—so much bigger than he is.

   For the moment, Hanji ignores them both and shifts files from one side of her scattered work surface to the other. Eren rubs his forehead. It’s gotten worse.

   Her desk is covered in a mountain of parchment. A vast craggy geography of written formations peppered with villages constructed of empty mugs. There’s even a river of dried coffee spilled across the desk to complete the picture. The entire room smells—like stale coffee, mildewed paper, moldering meals, and the stench of too much work and far too little care.   

   Eren covers his nose with the back of his hand. “Fuck, it’s stuffy.” He rushes to the window, then opens it, and kicks the back of Hanji’s chair. “Commander, this is getting ridiculous.”

   Levi shakes his head, though he doesn’t scold Eren for his impertinence, rather, he pokes his foot against the leg of the beaten desk chair himself. “It’s gone too far.”

   Hanji turns, narrowing her eyes with contempt. “Then go play chess,” she says, flicking her hand toward the door, “no one asked you to come here, and I’m busy.”

   “If Erwin were here, I’d tell him to give my job to someone else,” Levi says, “but he’s not, so I guess we’re stuck.”

   Hanji stomps her foot. “I have work to do, damn it.”

   “You always have work to do.”

   Eren bites his lip. He hates this. He’s always hated it, but it’s not right Levi should have to do this all himself. “Commander … Hanji, c’mon. Let’s just get it over with.”

   “Why’d you two always have to do this? You’re ruining my routine. Ravaging it!” She sneers then sits back in her chair and waves her hands at the sides of her head, flapping them like bird wings. “You want to play chess and snog or whatever it is that you do, and I want to work. We’ll make a deal.”

   Eren twitches, the, _it’s_ _none of your business!_ dying in his throat when he sees Levi’s expression. He looks as though he’s been struck with something very light. Like he’s been thrashed with a feather.   

   “No deal. Get the fuck up,” Levi says, patience all but drained, “we aren’t leaving.”

   “Go to hell! Go. To. Hell!” Hanji snarls, rocking in her chair.

   Eyes closing as he hisses in a breath, Eren fortifies himself for the upcoming onslaught.

   Whereas Hanji once argued with Levi over the baths, now she has become hurtful and out-of-control. As the years have worn on, it’s chipped at her reserve. She stressed, overwrought, and nasty.

   … Then again, except for Levi, they’ve all gotten nastier.

   “I’ve got shortbreads,” Eren says, gesturing at Levi’s bag.

   “Screw the shortbreads,” Hanji screams as she throws a handful of pencils at Eren.

   Holding his arm up defensively, Eren sighs. Pencils clatter on the floor like miniature spears flung by a shrunken army. “I thought you liked them.”

   “I don’t anymore,” Hanji says, foot tapping erratically. “You both can gag on them!”

   “Fuck this.” Levi hauls Hanji up by her collar, and Eren’s eyes widen. It’s still amazing how Levi can defy his short stature.

   “Let me go!” Hanji screeches, stomping her feet, jumping up and down. “You’re destroying my work.”

    Rolling his eyes, Levi says, “It will still be here.”  

   “I have to get through these reports!” Hanji begins a ranting list, counting off on her fingers. “I have to finish my communique to Historia. I have to file Eren’s stable transfer. There’re orders to approve, pamphlets, so many pamphlets. The gherkins are suddenly giving everyone gas! I have another ten pages to get through.” She squirms, trying to break from Levi’s hold. “And the rotation! What about the rotation schedule, damn it?” Lunging for Levi, she twists, fist missing his cheek as he ducks.

   “You should work on your hand to hand.”

   Eren pinches the bridge of his nose. Fuck. He hates this so much. It makes Hanji mean. It makes Levi mean. “Please calm down,” he says, trying to lay his hand on Hanji’s shoulder.

   Levi shoots Eren a glance and shakes his head as he wrenches Hanji toward the door and then opens it. “If you go quietly, no one will stare at you making a scene.”

   “My schedule! My plans! My research!” Hanji wails, kicking and flailing and smacking Levi as best she can. “You’re going to fuck it all up. I hate you both. I have work to do!”

   Levi told him not to, and it’s probably better if he heeds his advice, but Eren’s urge to help, to say something to break the hideousness of it all, is overwhelming. “You can get back to work soon.”

   “You don’t understand! You have no comprehension of what you’re doing.” Hanji stomps the heel of her boot right on Levi’s toes. He doesn’t flinch. “It won’t work now for the rest of the night. You are wrecking it. You are crushing it.” She sobs. “You already ruined it. I’ll never get this day back!”

   Eren closes the door behind him with a shiver. What _are_ they doing to her? Maybe it would be better to let her be dirty. At least then she would be happy.

   Hanji screams, still thrashing Levi as he yanks her not too nicely, dragging her down the hall toward her quarters. Eren follows behind, tentative, looking at his feet when Hanji snarls at him. “I have to do this work. I have to figure it out, so we don’t all die.”

    _You’re not going to die. I’ll make sure of it._ If Hanji knew the truth, maybe she wouldn’t work herself into a pile of filth. She would stop spiraling ever farther into this pit. She could stop fretting over an unwinnable war. Eren’s neck tenses as he resists the urge to blurt it all out.

   “We’re not—”

   Levi hisses. “An hour break isn’t going to stop you.”

   “No one’s going to help us! We’ll all die, Levi,” Hanji says, yowling through grit teeth, “and it’s going to be your faults.”

   Levi doesn’t give in to the argument. He simply looks at Eren again over his shoulder as he tugs Hanji toward the door to her quarters and wrenches it open. “Still not even locking it.”

   “No one would understand my notes!”

   “Fucking idiot.”

   Eren follows them inside, silent as he passes through the hoarded living area where Levi throws Hanji onto the sofa and rushes to the washroom. He lights a lantern and rubs his eyes.

   He can’t tell them. He can’t assure Hanji they aren’t going to die. She’ll forbid it. She’ll lock him up again if she must to stop him. And he can’t force Levi to choose a side.

   Eren’s hands shake along with his head. He has to concentrate on the bath.

   He sighs as he surveys the washroom. There are books piled by the sink, papers on the floor, and the bathtub is stuffed full with more of the same.

   Eren winces when Hanji yells about finding a cure for him and Armin. “You’re wasting my time, Levi! I don’t have long to figure something out. The curse! Eren and Armin will die if I don’t!”

 _Don’t think about it,_ Eren tells himself. _Don’t think about it._ _Don’t, don’t, don’t_ …  

   He’s got four years left. Probably less. He’s going to die, but it’s not going to happen today or tomorrow or the next day, and there are more important things to worry about, like clearing out Hanji’s bathtub.

   He tugs at his hair and then goes to work.

   The first armful of volumes tumbles from his hands when he hears Hanji stomp her feet, screaming, “He’ll be gone, Levi! Then what’re you going to do? You’ll be alone, you’ll never be able to trick anyone else into loving you.”

   “Shut the hell up,” Levi barks.

   Eren hears banging.

   He covers his ears for a moment, blocking it out. He’s not scared of dying. He knows what his fate is. He’s not afraid, but Levi … Eren doesn’t want to leave Levi. It sounds arrogant and as though he believes he’s over-important, and maybe he does, but Eren’s sure he makes Levi happy. Makes him smile. Makes the frown in his brow flee, if only for a little bit. When he tries to envision him after he’s gone—it makes … it … everything hurts.

   “Fuck …” His fingers are knotted in his hair. “Not now …” he whispers, sniffing as his eyes steam.

   “I hope you get eaten by titans,” Eren hears Hanji holler through his hands clutching his head, then the bang of something hitting the wall.

   “They’d get you first.”

   There are more bangs, and Eren tries to drown it out with humming as he goes back to his task, clearing the tub then rinsing it. His eyes are hotter by the time he’s stopped the drain, stinging as he watches the water cascading with a deafening crash into the bath, and filling it. Through the shaking in his hands, he adds too many soap flakes. “Fuck …”

   “Ready yet?” Levi calls from the sitting area, and Eren gulps.

   “Yeah, just trying to move her books and things.” His voice sounds like shit. He shoves as much as he can out into the hallway with careful kicks while he wipes his eyes.

   “They’ll be fine,” Levi says. “Just hurry up, she looks like she’s going to lunge for me.”

   “I might,” Hanji says. Her voice is laced with unfamiliar darkness.

    He shudders. There’s the sound of more struggling. Eren knows what that is. Hanji trying to beat the shit out of Levi, frustrated because he’s unfazed because Levi will take the blows.

   Levi always holds back, but still, the struggle is violent all the same.

   When Eren rounds the corner from the hallway, his jaw flexes, and his teeth grind so hard he tastes copper. He’s bitten the tip of his tongue.

   Levi’s wrestling with Hanji. His nose is bloody, and a set of scratches mark the side of his neck.

   Eren stomps his foot. “What in the hell, Hanji!”

   “He deserved it.”

   “Oh, fuck you!”

   “Don’t worry about it,” Levi says and tackles Hanji again. “We need to bathe her before the lighting is too close.”

   This has gotten entirely out of hand. At some point along the way, Hanji veered off the path, and he and Levi lost the reins. It’s not as though Levi always comes out of this unscathed, and Hanji never does, but she’s gone too far. Levi’s nose is dripping. It’s crooked. It looks broken.

   Levi’s beautiful little nose!

   Eren’s knuckles crack as his fingers curl into a fist. Maybe Hanji should have her nose broken too.

   He wants to do it himself.

   Breath presses from Eren’s nostrils in a hiss, and he swears he feels steam. As if he were some demented half-man half-bull.

    _Leave it,_ Levi says silently as he wipes some blood away with the back of his hand.

   “But—”

    Levi’s eyes harden. _Don’t._

    _Okay_ …  If not for Levi, Eren would yoke Hanji up and at least scream in her face.

   Allowing his shoulders to fall, Eren eyes Levi and stretches his neck. Some silent, almost submissive gesture, long ago cultivated between them which tells Levi he’s backing off.

   They’re all lucky that through the years, Eren’s learned some self-restraint. It may not be much, but it’s enough to allow retaliation over Levi’s injury to wait. Maybe until he doesn’t feel like the pressure in his skull will thrust his eyes from his head. He rubs them, willing the titan fissures not to appear on his cheeks. It always makes Levi fret.

   “She’s almost ready.”

   Levi’s been efficient this time, or a bit more tenacious. Hanji’s harness is off. It’s the older model. None of them wear it regularly, but she puts it on when she knows bath time is nearing. It sits on the floor now, next to her shirt and shoes and socks. Eren bites his lip so hard it steams when Levi tugs off her pants.

   “Fuck …” Levi says as he tosses them to the floor. “Almost done.”

   Hanji’s left hand pushes at his bloody face. They both look monstrous in the flash of the lightning. Maniacal and dangerous.

   She whips a book at Levi, taking advantage when he dodges, springing at him before she begins fighting him in her undergarments. She flails like a caged animal. Eren sighs. She is caged. He and Levi have made sure of that. And to make it crueler and more revolting, to anyone on the outside, it probably would look as though Levi were trying to rape her.

   Eren feels a stab of guilt at the thought, but with how dirty Hanji is, he thinks no one would likely believe Levi wanted to.

   “Eren help!” Hanji screams, reaching her hand toward him, straining in Levi’s hold. “Please! Help me!”

   “I can’t—I mean … I’m trying,” Eren says, shaking his head. He backs up until his head collides with the wall. “I’m trying to help, Hanji. You need a bath. You need to stop this shit. Look what you did.”

   Levi’s blood is smeared on her hands and where it’s dripped onto her stomach and chest. There are deep ravines of dirt in the folds of her skin, like scrapes of tar etching her. Levi has her glasses and eye patch off, and Eren can see red marks on her arms and legs from where she’s been scratching and the forming bruises from Levi’s merciless grip.

   This is insanity.

   Instead of making it easier, her appearance makes it more difficult. Washing off all the grit and the sweat will disarm her, leave her exposed. They’re about to strip Hanji of all her protection. It’s not like the rest of them don’t have guards. They all have shields, Hanji’s is just a raiment of filth.

   “Levi …” Eren says.

   “It’ll be over soon.” Levi throws Hanji over his shoulder, maintaining his balance as she beats her fists against his back. “Fuck this shit.”

   Making way, Eren retreats to the doorway of the bathroom.

   Blood drips across the boards of the floor. Hanji struggles. Levi grinds his jaw.

   The look in his eyes as he passes appears pained. Not from Hanji pummeling him, or breaking his nose, but something else. No one else would notice it, Eren thinks. Except maybe Hanji when she’s in her right mind. But she’s not right now.

   In an attempt to cling to Eren as Levi strides past the threshold and into the washroom, her nails slash against Eren’s cheek.

   “Eren, please … please,” she yells, squinting her eye and her eyeless eye. “Why are you helping him do this to me? Why?”

   Levi and Eren share a look, and Levi hisses. He’s angry. Eren can feel it radiating off him.

   “I’m fine,” Eren says, and bows his head before he shuts the bathroom door.

   He sags against the wall and wipes the blood from his cheek. He can already feel it steaming, feel its heat licking at his eye.

   “Bitch …” he mutters to himself. Though looking at the blood dissipating from his trembling fingers, he supposes, maybe he deserves it. The abuse. The pain. It doesn’t matter whether Hanji meant it, he deserves it. Filthy or not, they’re destroying her.

   One day this will be too much.

   Hearing her screams melding with the echoing rumbles of thunder from far off, he wonders if each time Levi scrubs her, part of who she is or her sanity is rinsed away, only to slip down the drain. It’s as though they’re melting her, like a bar of soap’s layers frothing away each day in the shower until it’s smaller, smaller, smaller, and all that’s left is a bendable, yet brittle sliver.

   Eren doesn’t know how close they are to that, but it’s escalating. She struck Levi. It would be like Eren punching Mikasa in the nose. What if she finally snaps while he’s gone? What will Levi do?

   Scrubbing his hand down his face, Eren shakes his head. They’re more thoughts he can’t think about tonight. He has work to do.

   In the sitting area, Levi has left his bag with clean sheets. Hanji barely uses her bed, but as always, she will tonight. He tries to drown out the sounds of her screeches and threats and blubbering as he enters the bedroom and lights the lantern.

   It’s the same as it always is; disheveled and disorganized. Decorated with matted strings of cobwebs, draped from the ceiling to forgotten piles of books and furniture like morbid winter garlands. The bedding currently on her mattress looks mainly unused. Still clean and tucked in places from when last Eren made it.

   “Damn it, Hanji,” Eren mutters as he tugs at the bedclothes, cringing when he hears splashing and crying and Levi cursing.

   He’ll need Eren tonight.

   Lightning streaks. Thunder explodes. The rain thrashes against the window. It’s as though its purpose is to enhance the cacophony of shrieks coming from behind the door.

   He glares at the storm through murky panes of glass and then hurls the ball of dusty sheets onto the floor.

   Unfolding the bedding, Eren growls. Hanji broke Levi’s nose—or at least it seems, he’ll have to get a better look later—she can suffer from a sloppily made bed.

   It’s petty, Eren thinks as he spreads the fresh sheet, wrinkled and ruckled, but this is the only acceptable mode of vengeance he can conceive to channel his rage. He tucks the edges in messily—haphazardly—beneath the mattress, adding another crease when he hears Hanji call Levi a furfuraceous midget.

   He knows she doesn’t really mean it and is throwing every boulder she can think of, especially when she continues and adds Levi is a poger.

   Seems she’s tossing mountains now.

   Eren kicks a book across the floor, then fishes in Levi’s bag and retrieves the tin of biscuits.

   His tongue catches between his teeth, fingers tingling with maliciousness as he crushes a cookie in his fist and sprinkles crumbs over the sheet, like fluffy, new-fallen snow.

   “Nice and comfy,” he mutters then adds another more prominent, irritatingly uncomfortable fold right where Hanji’s feet will be. The kind that doesn’t go away no matter how hard one tries to smooth it with their toes. The type of cruel fold that keeps one awake. The kind that makes one want to flip the bed and set it on fire.

   “That’ll teach you,” he hisses.

   He doesn’t even straighten the top sheet. It’s cockeyed, and a corner is at the head. Feeling satisfied, Eren smirks.

   “Take that,” he says, “see how you sleep now, bitch.”

   He knows what he probably looks like, wearing that expression Mikasa says makes him look psychotic.

   Perhaps he is.

   It’s taken him longer to make an infuriating bed than it would have to do it properly, but by the time the quilt is over the crumb-bestrewn sheets, and the rumpled pillows are thrown into the center in a non-verbal _fuck you,_ Eren feels much better.

   Moreso when the washroom door opens and Hanji hollers at Levi to “get the fuck out!”

   Levi peeks into the bedroom on the way to the living area. He pushes the wet fringe from his face, takes one look at Eren’s masterpiece, and rolls his eyes.

   It’s a relief to see him not completely blank-faced, but he appears exhausted, and there is still blood over his nose and mouth and chin. It’s stained his wet shirt, and Eren’s chest constricts with a slight pang of comfort Levi wasn’t wearing one of his precious cravats.

   Eren reaches out, but Levi squeezes his hand and says, “Just take care of her for now.”

   “You sure?”

    _I want to go home._ Levi’s never said it aloud, but even silently, he’s only expressed it a few times before. His thumb circles over Eren’s wrist before he drops his hand and strides to the sitting room.

 

“Why is he still here?” Hanji mutters when Eren has her wrapped in her towel in the sitting area. She’s glowering at Levi, watching him as he paces as though she were a pouting child scowling at their parent from the ‘time-out’ corner.

   “You think I’d leave him with you.” Levi scoffs and sips tea from his flask while he continues his effort to walk a rut into the floor.

   Eren doesn’t want to, not with what’s happened, not with how the evening has gone, and not when he looks at Levi’s blood befouled skin, but he grits his teeth and runs the comb through Hanji’s hair. This can’t be in vain, and it will be at least partially if he doesn’t remove the tangles.

   As he works through shampoo-scented snarls, he wonders if Levi ever resents this burden Erwin thrust upon him. To look after Hanji’s hygiene. He’s never faltered in the task, never abandoned it. Never left her. Sometimes, as Hanji did recently, she manages to get out of it, and Levi doesn’t search for her as hard as he used to. He says it’s become too much, and the balance between her mental state and her physical state has become ‘delicate.’

   The truth in Levi’s statement was proven on this eve, and Eren wonders if they should stop. It’s not good for any of them.

   Lost in thought, Eren isn’t paying close attention, and Hanji hisses when he accidentally tugs too hard on a knot. Though, as he usually would, he doesn’t apologize. He’s more focused on Levi. He would tell him to go on ahead, back to the sanctuary of his quarters, but it would be for naught. He knew that even before what Levi said.

   “You can’t keep doing this,” Eren says to Hanji instead.

   She isn’t screaming and yelling and throwing things as she was earlier, but Hanji’s shoulders are still fraught with tension, her breaths fast as she rubs her fingers over her arms. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Some form of calming herself Eren’s always thought.

   “It wouldn’t keep happening if you two would leave me be. Leave me to my work,” she whispers. It’s acidic in Eren’s ears. Corroding. It goes right to his heart and his shaky fingers.

   Accurate as that may be, what are they supposed to do? Erwin gave Levi this job for a reason, and Eren wishes he could ask his dead Commander why. Who did it before Levi was in the Corps? Was it Erwin, someone else? Maybe Moblit at some point? Eren’s never thought to broach the subject with either of them.

   “There’s being dirty, Hanji,” Eren begins, pulling the comb smoothly through a section of detangled hair, “and there’s being so filthy you’ll make yourself sick.” He groans. “Most of the street urchins are cleaner than you.”

   “Don’t have time for it,” Hanji says in a tone that sounds like a pair of scissors snapping shut. She bites half a biscuit and continues with food in her mouth. “Especially not now. The entire world is going to close in on us.”

    _Not if I can help it. I won’t let it happen,_ Eren thinks with a bite to his cheek. “You’ll be no use to us if you catch an infection and die.”

   There’s a sound from Levi, something between a quiet grunt and his customary “tch.” He looks menacing. Predatory. He eyes Eren’s face where the scratches were before they healed, and for a fleeting second, Eren finally understands what Hanji means when she fights them.

   Their evening is ruined. Destroyed. They will leave here and stomp through the deluge of the summer storm in silence, then go back to Levi’s for a bath. Though this will be different than their usual baths filled with warm comfort and closeness and what Eren likes to think of as fragile intimacy, even though Levi maybe doesn’t.

   This bath will be tense. Eren will try to rub all of Levi’s aches from his shoulders, and maybe if he’s lucky, Levi won’t argue about sleeping in the bed. The tub will feel too big, the water the wrong temperature, the bath oil won’t smell quite right, and there will be no chess. No shin kicks over tea.

   Levi will insist on dull Earl Grey, and when they climb under the covers, the scent through the window won’t be as sweet.

   Eren won’t concentrate on any of it though, or at least, he’ll try not to. Levi will need him, whether he says it or not.

   And even after today, he knows Levi won’t.

* * *

As soon as they’re back in Levi’s quarters, Eren is fishing his handkerchief out of his pocket. Levi has his own, probably three on him at the moment, but something twists, winds, and makes Eren’s fingers move without thought.

   “Here,” he says. Eren knows he shouldn’t. It might feel like pushing to Levi or fussing, but he holds the offering out between them.

   As he accepts it, Levi doesn’t say anything, then presses it to his nose and hisses. “That was fucked up.”

   Nodding, Eren rubs his forehead. It hurts behind his eyes again. “I—I can’t …” His words falter as he searches. “I never thought she’d punch you in the face.”

   Levi’s brows rise. “That was from her fucking foot.”

   “She kicked you!” Eren’s whole body is tight and ablaze, ready to march through the rain back over to Hanji’s and kick her right back. He was good with leaving things how they were. He combed her hair and found her clean pajamas, but he didn’t talk to her much. He didn’t whisper like a parent would to a distraught child, he didn’t tuck her into her wrinkly crumb-ridden bed with the sheets and quilt nice and tight like she prefers.

   No, Eren found his retribution in silence and a bit of berating. When it felt as though it would turn into a scene, he opted for silence again and finished combing out the snarls.

   Eren tugs at his hair and walks in a circle before Levi halts him.

   “I’m not certain she did it on purpose,” he says, and squeezes Eren’s shoulder, “but she probably did.” He snorts through the blood. “I shouldn’t have criticized her hand to hand.”

   “Levi, it’s not funny.” Eren reaches out to Levi’s face, fingertips brushing the bruised skin beside his nose. “It looks broken.”

   “It is,” he says through a muffled voice then walks to the washroom.

   Eren follows, biting his lip as Levi examines himself in the mirror with a frown.

   “I thought I couldn’t get uglier,” he says. There’s a smirk on his lips, but it contradicts the gloomy stoicism in and around his eyes.

   “You’re not ugly,” Eren says.

 _You’re beautiful and kind, and I don’t want to leave you._ Eren reaches out then drops his hand to his side. “You make me smile.”

   Shrugging, Levi turns on the spigot, and for a fraction of an inhale, Eren thinks maybe Levi might have smiled too.

   “I’ll look better once I clean up.” He trusts a flannel under the stream and dabs at his face. “Want to set it for me?”

   Eren rubs the back of his head. He’s done it for people before, but this is Levi. What if he fucks it up and ruins his nose forever? He loves Levi’s little nose. It’s straight and small with a gentle curve and the most perfect point at the end.

   “I might make it worse.”

   “Fiddlesticks,” Levi says, “you can handle it, but I can do it myself if you don’t want to.”

   Eren shakes his head. “All right, I will.” He watches as Levi’s swipes away the blood and washes his face, then dries it.

   When Levi turns toward Eren, Eren can’t stop the churn in his stomach. His nose looks even more crooked without the blood covering it. It might never be the same again, and that’s all right, Eren will love Levi’s nose just as much, but being the one responsible for a shitty set and improper healing isn’t a mantle he’s quite comfortable shouldering. He’ll never forgive himself.

   “Eren,” Levi says, pressing his hand to Eren’s cheek where the scratches Hanji inflicted were.

   They’ve healed to nothing but a memory he would like to forget.

   Eren wishes without harming him, he could give Levi some of that. Not that his Ackerman genes don’t allow him to recover fast, but it will still be a few days before his nose is—hopefully if Eren doesn’t fuck this up—back to normal.

   Eren’s mouth hangs open a bit. “What?” he finally says.

   “Breathe,” Levi tells him. “Breathe and just pull your thumbs down the sides. Fast,” he adds, “and don’t be gentle.”

   Grasping Levi’s face, Eren sighs. “I put crumbs in Hanji’s bed.”

   Levi frowns before his lips twitch. “From the biscuit tin?”

   “No.” Eren scratches his cheek. “From an entire biscuit.”

   A young recruit or anyone who didn’t know Levi well would gather he was disappointed, ready to explode, or constipated, but Eren knows he’s holding in a laugh. He looks the same as when Eren tells him a bad shit joke.

   Eren smirks and Levi wheezes. Blood spatters onto Eren’s chest from the force of the snicker. It sounds more raspy and unused than usual, nasal and high. It sounds awful.

   Beautifully awful.

   “You little shit.” Levi dabs at the fresh blood dripping from his nose, trying to stifle his laughter. “Serves her right.”

   It still feels that way, but something scratches. Like hearing his mother admonishing him behind his ear, or her looking at him disappointed, with that expression she had when he used to get into fights.

   “I should feel bad.”

   The laughter dies, abrupt, and with a final breath echoing like something knocked to the floor with a sharp clatter. Levi’s eyes catch Eren’s as a sober expression washes over his face. “She should too.”

   Eren nods. It’s true, but sometimes when the guilt doesn’t come, Eren wonders if he’s genuinely less human than he thinks. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and chews.

   “Don’t do that,” Levi says with a flick against Eren’s chin, “it’s a bad habit.”

   “I forget.”

   “We’ll scrub this tomorrow.” He dabs at Eren’s shirt with a clean flannel. “Now fix my fucking nose before I’m stuck like this.”

   “Yeah.”

   He holds Levi's face, sets his thumbs either side of Levi’s nose at the bridge, then looks him in the eyes. Levi gives one small nod, and Eren counts down. “Three … two … one …”

   Levi doesn’t make a sound, and Eren’s pretty sure he closed his eyes while he wrenched Levi’s nose back into place, but as he blinks them now, he sees Levi’s nose is straight, albeit bruised. His eyes are watering too, though Eren’s not surprised.

   Checking Eren’s work in the mirror, Levi’s eyebrows lift. He meets Eren’s gaze in the reflection. “Not bad.”

 

In the tub, the hint of dark gaiety that surrounded them has fled, and the looming silence which always follows on Hanji’s bath night has descended.

   Levi sits at the center of the bath, facing away from Eren, giving him his back to rub.

   Eren’s fingers are deft tonight. They’re sure too. Kneading away a knot at the base of Levi’s neck and one in the small of his back.

   Usually, Eren takes this position first, after they’ve massaged each other’s feet and calves. On occasion, when Eren’s in a cheeky mood, he tries to be the back massager first. It never works. Levi scoots to the end of the tub, and points before him with a “nice try, brat,” a “bullshit,” or a “get in the fucking tub.”

   But not tonight.

   Bath night is the one night when Levi doesn’t argue.

   He didn’t make a face, or click his tongue, or roll his eyes. He quietly turned, and for once, allowed Eren to take care of him. Eren always gives back. In little ways. Making Levi tea. Talking him into a rub for his bad ankle, and oftentimes when they embrace in bed he’s the big spoon, yet this … this is different.

   It’s also something Eren would give up if only it meant both Levi and Hanji didn’t suffer. But especially Levi.

   Levi sighs when Eren moves to his shoulders. His head is hanging, his eyes are downcast, likely watching floating bubbles burst on the surface of the water, and though he’s slumped, Eren can feel the tension in each muscle of his back.

   It will crack the fragile silence, almost break an unwritten rule, but Eren wets his lips, attempting to summon the words which are tumbling is his head, only to pile up in his throat.

   “Levi?”

   “Hmm?”

   “I—I think …” he begins, “I think we have to think of something else.” His fingertips dig into Levi’s skin as he hangs on. “For Hanji, I mean.”

   Levi releases a little groan and rubs his forehead. “Maybe.”

   “If she could schedule a bath in for herself,” Eren says, thinking aloud, “she’s so obsessed with her schedules.”

   “She’s gotten worse since they haven’t been on a set night,” Levi begins, “but that’s her doing, not mine.”

   Eren squeezes the back of Levi’s neck, anxious and waiting. “Does it make me terrible that I want someone else to do it?” He’s ever wanted to suggest it, yet never voiced it. It sounds so selfish, and that is part of it, yes, but it’s mostly for Levi. It’s not a task Levi should have to handle alone while Eren is gone. “It’s not fair to you.”

   Levi shakes for a moment with a repressed laugh that wheezes out with a pitiful sound. “No, but life isn’t fair.”

   He knew Levi was going to say that, and oh, how he knows. “I know, I know life isn’t fair, but it doesn’t mean we can’t figure out something else.”  

   “No one else can handle her.”

   Eren’s hand stills on Levi’s shoulder. He wishes he could pull him closer and lean back so Levi would be resting against his chest. Like what they do in bed.

   For whatever reason, it never happens in the bath. Levi’s never cuddled Eren there, so Eren’s never tried to hug Levi when they’re immersed in the warmth of the tub.

   He scratches his chin, wondering if it’s because they’re entirely unclothed. Granted, something between them has shifted, but perhaps that’s still too close for Levi. Maybe it would make him uncomfortable.

   It doesn’t matter either way. Eren must control himself, and he’s not sure how well he could if they snuggled in the tub.

   Banishing the intrusive thoughts, Eren focuses on the subject at hand. On finding a way to relieve Levi of this burden. _Burden_ … he hates to call it that, but it’s what it is. When he abandons Levi, he’ll have no help at all. He has to think of something.

   “Can I talk to Armin?” Eren asks. “Maybe he’ll have an idea.”

   Levi’s quiet, and Eren can hear him chewing on his question. Eren knows this isn’t something that will be easy for Levi, but after a moment, he deflates under Eren’s massaging hands.

   “I suppose,” Levi says, “he’s sharp, but try to keep it quiet.”

   Eren smiles. It may not work. It may be crazy, and the evening still feels exhaustive and heavy, but it’s a start. Levi relenting on anything is a start too. Usually, if he does, it’s wordless, and Eren can’t remember the last time this happened.

   Maybe it never has before.

   Eren wants to wrap his arms around Levi and kiss the back of his neck. Not only a brush of lips but a real kiss, with his lips scrunched up and a little kissy sound. That’s what Eren would really like, to gift Levi with a simple gesture of his devotion and affection. So Levi would know Eren finds him beautiful and that he is loved.

   This isn’t the time for that though, and it’s not right to invite Levi to walk over that line. To wrench him over it.

   He nods instead, and shifts closer, still leaving a few inches between Levi’s back and his chest, rests his forehead on the back of Levi’s neck, and says, “Thank you.”

 

Once they’re dry and clad in their drawers, Levi is hovering around the bedroom while Eren lies in bed, facing toward Levi’s side.

   Eren watches, fingers twitching as Levi turns down the lanterns, throws Eren’s stray, balled-up dirty socks in the hamper, and shuts the door. He pulls the drapes open, just a little, not so much they won’t stretch toward the bed in the breeze, but not so much anyone across the courtyard could see right in.

   Eren likes when they flit over the bed. He doesn’t know why, but he enjoys the tickling caress of the soft fabric brushing over him, and when he’s the little spoon, he likes watching them billow and reach out when he can’t sleep.

   Levi stands at the side of the bed for an extra beat of Eren’s breaking heart. A crease furrows his brow, one that says _you should turn over,_ but Eren lifts the sheet instead and opens his arms. A silent, _let me wrap you up._

“You’ll hurt your nose,” Eren says when Levi climbs into bed and faces him. He smoothes the frown from Levi’s forehead, soft strokes over his brow as the lines fade and disappear. For a moment, Eren thinks Levi will order him to slip onto his left side, but he doesn’t. He looks down, settles his hand over the center of Eren’s chest, and closes his eyes.

    It’s a silent thank you which lasts for two breaths before he turns over and allows Eren to bind him in his shielding arms.


	8. Sanctuary

Once, a long time ago, someone told Eren something. He doesn’t remember his name. He was in the Garrison. He used to drink with Hannes when he was passing through. He wasn’t stationed in Shiganshina, and now Eren’s older—a man—he understands why he didn’t have a permanent station of his own and was shuffled from town to town. 

   The other soldiers called him a poof and a man-lover, and Eren didn’t know when he was nine what they meant, but it isn’t why he thinks of him now. He told Eren one day in an inebriated allocution that sometimes life pushes one down the road straight in front of them, and it might seem like there were alternatives. That one had come to a fork. And perhaps, to the left, there was a rambling twisting path with a warm looking inn at the end. To the right, there was an inviting trail of cobbles shaded by magnificent trees that lead to a cosy home and love. Off to the side, there was a worn rut offering a view of the cleanest clearest lake, and perchance, there was something akin to freedom there. 

   “They are all very, very, very tempting,” he said, and then took a deep dram from his flask. 

   “I’d go to the lake,” Eren said. 

   “Sure about that?” the man asked.

   Of course, he asked such a stupid question, Eren thought. The man was shit-faced, and Eren told him his breath smelled of black market liquor.

   “I’m sure,” Eren said. “I want freedom.”

   The man nodded and patted Eren’s shoulder. “Of course you do.” He paused and held his booze aloft, and Eren rolled his eyes, called him a lush, and told him to get to work, but the man only laughed and continued. 

   He said the road is scary and tangled in thorns and inhabited by monsters and looked like the darkest of darkness, so dark it was impossible-dark, but that the cosy looking trails were sometimes lies.

    _Maybe everything’s always been a lie,_ Eren thinks.

   He sighs, setting aside the flower garland he’s been braiding, rips out a handful of grass, and throws it, showering himself in green slivers. He didn’t comprehend it then, but now, Eren thinks he has an inkling what that Garrison drunkard was talking about.

   Looking for paths is something Eren has never much considered. Sure, he’s barrelled off them, right into the brush and into a forest of thick overgrown trees, but he’s never had time to look. Now he has, and he hates that dark, frightening road he’s been trudging down since he was ten. 

   Go to Liberio. Don’t go to Liberio. Trust in his country. Don’t. Trust his comrades will come. Tell Levi. Don’t.

   None of the choices feel right. 

   He sighs and tugs on his hair. If only he could talk to Levi about this. Levi would know what to do. He would know what was best. 

    _Maybe,_ Eren thinks, _maybe I should tell him._ They’ve been in the shit for a long time, and Levi trusts Eren’s instincts—something that sometimes, still surprises Eren—so he probably won’t say anything to Hanji and blow Eren in, but he won’t be pleased. 

   Eren doesn’t need to close his eyes to picture Levi pacing, his hand going to his forehead, dropping with a slap to his hip, back to his forehead. The uttered _fuck shit fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fucking shit what the hell are you thinking?_ Eren can feel Levi’s slender fingers grabbing the neck of his shirt, yanking him around. He knows the feel of his fist slamming into his face, the pain of his boot in his gut.

   It’s not as though he hasn’t felt them before. He deserved the beatings then, too, just as he deserves one now.

   He throws another handful of grass. Levi would rage, angry and bewildered, but he would follow him anyway, and Eren doesn’t know if he can allow that. 

   Still, he has time to decide, time to figure out if he possesses the strength to break their unspoken, yet solemn oath of trust.

   Time to decide if he’ll force Levi to make a choice which isn’t a choice at all. 

   “Not today, though,” Eren whispers, fingers twisting in the fabric of his grass-bestrewn trousers. 

    _No, not today,_ he thinks with a shake of his head, eyes glued to his and Levi’s path. _Today is another not-today. Just a few more._

   He could never bring it up under the tree anyhow. Never under the willow. Not in this place, no. This haven must remain pure. Eren won’t taint their sanctuary with his malignancy. 

   He stretches, calming himself, evening his breath, bathing in the broken bits of sunlight which sneak through the branches and leaves. He wiggles his bare back against the tree bark and tries to send his mission from his mind. 

   Levi will arrive soon with his secret under-the-willow-smile, and his deep, quiet voice, and maybe a treat for Eren. It might be little sandwiches, maybe cookies, or perhaps, if Eren is lucky, Levi will have filled the tea flask with summertime Sencha. 

   He keeps his eyes open, fixed on their foot-trampled trail. 

   Within minutes, Levi will tread along it, and Eren will swoon and smile, and the beat of his heart will speed pace, and maybe, he’ll allow himself the indulgence of some imaginings. They are all he can have. They’re better than nothing. 

   He bites his lip and closes his eyes, envisioning what it would be like if Levi reached him, and instead of settling beside him, he kneeled, and his fingers reached out to trace the line of Eren’s jaw before he kissed him. Kissed him right under the willow branches with lips Eren already knows are soft. And maybe Levi would nibble on that crack Eren won’t allow to mend, and then whisper what a terrible habit chewing on it is right into Eren’s mouth.

   And it would be enough. 

   Just a kiss; gentle and sweet and warm with Levi’s fingers in his hair, and his arm tight and steady around his waist, holding him like Levi already does, but instead of in Levi’s bed under the quilt of dark, it would be out in the open, bathed in the warm sun with the birds chirping above and the dandelions and the grass tickling Eren’s naked feet. 

   The thoughts leave him with a curve to his lips, and at the sound of leather brushing grass, he opens his eyes. 

   The real Levi is walking toward him, looking like a smudged figure in a painting created by all the most precious colors. Light blue, and black, and pretty, pale skin highlighted in the blaze of late afternoon’s glow. 

   Skin tingling, Eren fidgets. It feels like Levi will never get to the tree. As though he’ll be walking forever, his form growing larger, all the Levi-hues unblurring. Then the breeze through his hair, the lift at the hem of his loosened cravat. He’ll be close enough his nose, his eyes, his lips, and the dark mahogany buttons on his shirt will come into focus, but he’ll never be close enough Eren can smell him or hear him or feel the heat of his shoulder pressing into his arm. 

   When Eren’s limbs twitch, and the urge to stand, to walk, to run, and pummel the distance between them is overwhelming, a tabby bolt dashes from behind Levi’s feet and trots to him. 

   “Little arsehole wouldn’t stay in the stable,” Levi says, his still muffled voice swaddling Eren’s racing heart like a blanket. 

   “Valtari!” Eren says when the kitten throws himself at his feet and begins rolling to and fro.

   “Varúð,” Levi corrects as he strides the last few feet, and collapses in a very un-Levi fashion beside Eren. “Followed me to Hanji’s building and waited outside.”

   His presence is relief enough, Eren, for once, doesn’t argue over the name. Just this once. One time he’ll let it go.

   “Was it bad?” Eren asks, watching Levi pull the tea flask from his satchel and relax his strong, broad back against the trunk of their tree. 

   “She threw a stack of nutritional pamphlets at me and went on a tirade about gherkins causing a flatulence outbreak among the recruits.” Shrugging, he sighs. “She didn’t kick me out though.”

   “Give her a few days,” Eren says, wrinkling his nose at the conjured scent of the gas-infused mess hall.  

   “Probably less.” Levi unscrews the cap of the flask and holds it out, and Eren thinks how kind Levi is. But he needs the tea more than Eren right now. 

   “You first,” Eren says. “Did she apologize this time?”

   Levi takes a swig, and Eren already knows it’s Sencha from Levi’s mild smile. “She did. Passed her apologies along to you as well.”

   “I guess she’s not holding too much of a grudge then.” Eren averts his gaze from Levi’s bruised nose, and the darkened circles under his eyes. She has no right to hold a grudge after what she did, but this is Hanji. She’ll feel wronged until she finds her way back to her comfort zone. The crumb-sprinkled sheets probably didn’t help either. 

   Still, if anyone should be holding a grudge, it’s Levi, and yet, somehow, he doesn’t.

   Other than a scowl in the mirror this morning, Levi’s not even acknowledged his broken nose. His voice still sounds off. As though he’s stuffed cotton in his nostrils or were speaking while pinching them shut. 

   Levi takes another swig of tea then passes it along to Eren. “She growled ‘sorry and tell Eren too.’ So she’s not entirely forgiven us yet, or at least not me.” Frowning Levi touches his nose but allows his hand to fall away when Eren frowns. 

   Maybe Levi should have it looked at by someone in the medical office. 

   “Did you talk to Armin?” Levi asks.

   “A little while ago,” Eren says. He nips the crack in his lip. “He was … concerned.”

   “About Hanji?” Levi asks, raising a brow. 

   “Well, yes, but …” Eren starts, drawing up a knee. He plucks a dandelion and begins pulling off its petals. Levi’s probably going to groan or frown and let loose a string of curse words. Eren hopes this doesn’t ruin the rest of their day. 

   “And …?” Levi says, prodding Eren with a knock of his knee against his thigh. “What the hell did he say?”

   “It’s gotten all around …  your nose, I mean. Everybody knows. It’s this weekend’s interesting gossip.” He rips half the flower petals from the crown and releases them with a flick of his hand. The breeze catches them, and they scatter over Levi’s legs. “Armin is worried about Hanji, but he thinks it’s gotten dangerous … for everyone.”

   “Tch.” Levi looks at the petals strewn on his trousers but doesn’t brush them away. He pinches one between his finger and thumb and examines it. “She can’t hurt me.”

   “She broke your nose!” Eren’s overreacting. His voice is too high and too loud and too strained. “I know you can handle it, but maybe one of these times she accidentally hurts herself … or someone else. We can’t close off the entire corridor to get her to her quarters. What if someone had come down the hall last night?” 

   Levi runs his hand down his face. “What does Armin suggest?”

   “A schedule first of all, so she knows it’s coming. She’s so bent on her schedules. She lives by them.” Eren groans and picks another dandelion. A big fluffy one. He holds it out to Valtari-Varúð as a toy and watches him bat it. “Armin’s going to ask Jean about fashioning something like a bath table”—Eren puts up his hands when Levi rolls his eyes—“I know it sounds stupid, but he thinks Jean could fabricate something. A work surface that can go across the tub. Then she can do her paperwork in there.” He shrugs and dangles the flower higher. “It might help. Maybe she’d even like baths then.”

   “Maybe …” Levi says, “but I hazard I’d sooner like coffee before Hanji would enjoy bathing.”

   “Armin is going to talk to her.” Eren gives Valtari-Varúð a scratch under his chin when he sprawls out between him and Levi, chattering at a bird in the foliage overhead. “It sounds like she’s still cross with us anyway.”

   “She’ll get over it. She always does.” Levi pets Valtari-Varúð and Eren watches the tension slip from his shoulders, followed by his features, smiling when Levi smiles at the kitten fighting his little fingers. 

   Levi calls him a fuzzy little arsehole and scolds him for messing up the hay in the stable and getting underfoot, but Levi and Valtari-Varúð are definitely friends.

   “Hey, you’re a little shit,” Levi scolds when Valtari-Varúð nips his hand. “You have terrible manners.”

   Eren laughs. “He’s just playing.”

   “He’s rude,” Levi says, but Eren can see his smirk. 

   “He’s a baby.”

   “No,” Levi tells Valtari-Varúð when he reaches to take his hand back, “you need a time out.”

   Levi’s hand retreats, the back of it brushing Eren’s on its way to settle in his lap. There’s a twitch in Eren’s fingers and a skittering little urge that makes the tips of them itch. Like they don’t want to listen to him anymore. As though he can no longer control them. 

   Eren examines his palm. Maybe it’s because his hand isn’t really his, well, not the one he was born with anyway. He’s lost it more times than he can count.

   Regrown body parts aside, contemplating them isn’t helping. His hand still trembles, ring finger flicking toward Levi’s, disobeying Eren’s command to be idle. _Not outside,_ Eren thinks, _only alone behind closed doors. Never in the open unless Levi does it first._

   Levi presses the flask into Eren’s shaking grip. “What’s your problem?”

   “Nothing,” Eren squeaks when Levi reaches toward him and tucks his hair behind his ear, thumb brushing Eren’s cheek. He doesn’t usually do that outside either of their quarters. It’s as if the tree, this place, the air here—it’s like it does something to Levi. Things that make Eren wonder lately if Levi is testing him.

   Or Levi’s asking him for something he can’t say with words. 

   A few months ago, Eren wouldn’t have understood. He wasn’t fluent in this dialect of silent Levi-speak then, but he thinks now, he’s beginning to comprehend. 

   Eren crushes the dandelion in his hand. A few months ago, Levi’s gaze didn’t linger this long. His eyes weren’t this open. He didn’t look at Eren like he wanted him more than anything else. 

   “Hmm?” Levi nudges his arm and cocks a disbelieving brow when he hasn’t elaborated.

   Eren tries again. “It’s nothing, just—yesterday, it was shit.”

   “Mmm.” Now Levi’s relaxing again, turned toward Eren, scrutinizing him with the softest expression, their faces less than a foot apart. So close Eren can smell the Sencha Levi just drank when he breathes. And maybe Eren’s wrong, but it looks like Levi’s gaze moves between his eyes and his lips—or perhaps his chin? 

   No, definitely his lips. Eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and eyes again. 

   Eren doesn’t know how kisses happen, how they begin, but his skin is warm and buzzing, there’s a tingly, driving push spreading over the back of his neck, and Eren thinks this might be how it would begin if he could allow himself to try. If he didn’t have to leave.

   Despite Eren’s conflict … his vow to himself … it feels like they’re moving closer, but so slow Eren wouldn’t notice until their mouths met. One moment stretching into thousands, closer-closer-closer, and then Eren would finally taste what he so often feels brush against his shoulders and neck. What Levi-kisses and Levi-skin and pale calloused hands would feel like on his own body in return. 

   Levi releases a deeper breath and blinks. He looks at Eren like he’s searching for something, perhaps beneath his skin or behind his eyes. 

   To Eren, it feels like Levi’s asking, inviting him. Moreso, when Levi’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips, and Eren swears Levi is blushing too.

   Something stabs in his heart. 

   He can’t give Levi this. 

   His eyes are hot, despite the yearning, empty ache in his chest. 

   He wants—he needs—

   He’ll destroy his own soul to save Levi’s.

    _When I come home. I promise._

   Eren tears his eyes from Levi’s and glances at his cheek. “I got some stuff on your face.” He plucks a dandelion petal from Levi’s jaw. The smile he forces hurts his cheeks. His chest. His stiff fingers against Levi’s skin.

   Levi blinks as though he’s only awakened, pulled from a drowsy haze. “Oh,” he says, taking the petal from the tip of Eren’s index finger.

   “Sorry.” Eren shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want to walk around like that.”

   “No.” Levi turns his head, focuses on the flask in his lap, and with a pained flash in his expression, the spell is broken. 

    _It’s for his own good,_ Eren tells himself as he clamps his eyes shut. If he doesn’t keep them closed, they’re going to steam. He’s going to cry.

   It would be wrong to do this to Levi.

_I’m so sorry, but …_

He releases a shaky breath. 

   This can’t happen again.


	9. Shopping

In the morning, Eren heads to his own room, to his own bathroom. It’s not as familiar, but the soap-scent there is close to as pleasant as Levi’s.

   He slept restlessly the night before, his dreams invaded by visions of Levi and the tree, kisses, and touches, and whispers Eren cannot have. Then it morphed and crumpled. He saw himself in Levi’s bed, Levi pressed behind him, arm over his waist. Eren’s eyes were open, and he stared at himself from his place under the sheets as if looking into a great horror. 

   Levi whispered to Eren beside him, lips touching his ear, but Eren did not move, and his eyes became blank. Lifeless and flat, and without shine. 

   “Eren …” Levi said. Then again. “Eren, Eren, Eren, Eren …” he demanded, voice growing desperate. 

   And Eren realized as Levi turned him onto his back, he was dead. 

   He watched petrified and panicked, yelled to Levi he was still there before he was slammed back into his body, and awoke.  

   Rubbing his hand over his fuzzy chin, Eren groans, and leans over his sink. He stares into the mirror. It’s become a habit of fortification as of late. Whether to push himself forward or to stay himself when it comes to Levi, looking himself in the eyes, and detaching like the man in the reflection is someone else. 

   “You can’t have those things,” he says, “maybe … maybe later … but not now.” A sliver of his covetous self slips through. That part of Eren needs to retreat. 

   What he wants doesn’t matter. There are more reasons he can’t have it than lies he can use to convince himself of why he could.

   Eren has a mission. Also, he has a death sentence, a limited lifespan. An expiration date. 

   

Stepping into the shower, Eren sends those last thoughts out of his mind. He should stop thinking about Levi under the tree as well. It only makes him ache, makes him want more intensely than he already does. Still—he can’t. 

   He’s always been an idiot.

    _If he doesn’t hate me after this,_ Eren thinks, pushing his dripping hair from his face. Perhaps then he wouldn’t only hold his hand out over the line, but he would open his arms and invite Levi into them. And with all the tenderness Eren could muster, he would put Levi on the spot the next time he looks like he’s yearning. The next time he looks as though he wants to kiss him. 

   They would have a few years together if they were lucky, and if Levi were satisfied with that, Eren wouldn’t dare deny him out of protection. Or maybe, if Eren were very, very lucky, Hanji would find a cure.

   They could have a quiet life, filled with everything Levi appreciates; fresh, honest food, simple and practical clothes, and a comfortable chair. 

   They could have all the humble things Levi loves; counting stars under the springtime sky, listening to rain patter the windows, and hot cocoa with a pinch of salt and cinnamon.

   He and Levi could have a little house with a gambrel roof, and Eren would see Levi with grey hair and pretty lines carved around his stormy eyes. They could have a cat, and a garden and Levi would frown at the grubs and the worms and complain about the dirt under his fingernails. He would scowl at digging up potatoes in the filthy earth and picking carrots and those bastard caterpillars on the tomato plants, but Levi can’t fool Eren. He knows Levi would love it.

   Heart twisting, Eren holds his hand to his chest, thinking of a cosy bed in a cosy little bedroom piled with patched quilts and squishy pillows. Levi’s dark hair spread across the crisp white case in spikey strands of morning mess. His only-at-dawn smile before his eyes open that Eren is barely ever awake early enough to see.

   He bites his lip. He shouldn’t allow himself the indulgence of these thoughts. He shouldn’t build an impossible future in his mind, but it’s all Eren has. 

   A dreamer’s fancies and foolish wants of a life that is ne’er to be. 

* * *

When Eren returns to Levi’s quarters, Levi is weekend-casual and cravatless.

   The bruises beneath his eyes are beginning to ebb to fading yellow-green, but don’t diminish his beauty, nor do they seem to lessen his mild smile. 

   Levi halts in his pacing, ready and waiting, shopping satchel set on the table, his billfold beside it, and the burlap sack he stows vegetables in is hanging over the back of his chair. Levi must be planning Sunday dinner for them. 

   Eren raises his brows, eyeing the dagger on Levi’s hip. “We visiting Everard?”

   Levi smirks. “Not today, but we’ll avoid the crowds and cut through the alleys.”

   That’s disheartening. Eren would have liked a few of those chocolate-dipped biscuits Everard has, or the decadent tiny cakes he deals in, or maybe more of those savory black market mushrooms from the continent.  

   “Don’t look so miserable,” Levi says, tipping up Eren’s chin, “you need a distraction, and I’m making you summer chicken soup.”

   Eren beams.

 

Levi wears shoes today instead of boots. His limp is pronounced, tapping an uneven rhythm with a sturdy click on the cobbles as they amble toward the market district. Heavy enough it grounds and tethers Eren in the unnerving rabble, yet light enough it doesn’t announce, _Captain Levi and Eren Jäger are coming._  

   Levi always hates that.

   He detests the scores of shoppers and rumbustious bustlers-about as well. He sneers or glares or scowls each time they push past on the walk, knocking into their shoulders and brushing by arms as they gambol and scutter, rushing like insects beneath an upturned flagstone, past the cafés, the sundries, and the proprietors dealing in the whims of ordinary folk. 

   And the smells—the Sunday patrons are oblivious of those. Without note, they hurry through the cloying stench; offal, over-fried pork belly, and body odor intermingled with, yet overpowering the perfumes of blossoms, bread, and good tea. 

   This part of Trost stands in stark contrast to HQ, which is located on the outskirts, close to the green and the hill and their willow. The air is cleaner there, not inundated with the heaviness of unwashed people and their burnt meals and busy-fragrances. No one throws their rubbish and befouled water from the windows, the sunshine is a bit cooler, or at least Eren imagines it is, and despite the hurrahing troops, somehow it’s quieter. As though their shouts dissipate in the breeze before they are carried away. 

   “We need Assam,” Levi says, disrupting Eren’s daydreams, dodging a portly man sucking at the chewy cartilage of a turkey leg, before steering them into the alley to their right. 

   The movement is innate by now, carved below Eren’s ribs with indelible ink, though still, after years, fascinating at times to him nonetheless. How Levi doesn’t need to touch him or say a word, and Eren knows where to turn, which direction to head and when.

   He could attribute it to his training, it happens with Mikasa and Armin too—not that he’s been spending much time with them lately—but it’s not the same, nor as precise. With Levi, it is static. As though they are magnetic or he can read Levi’s thoughts without knowing he is. There’s only a small prodding tingle on the back of Eren’s neck; _turn right, turn left, stop, start, slow, speed up, I’m trying to catch your eyes._

   Levi’s trying to catch them now, and Eren glances to the side, focused on the little “V” carved between Levi’s thin brows.

   “What is it?” Eren asks.

   “Avoid that puddle.” Levi jerks his chin ahead of them. “It’s fucking piss.”

   This still astounds Eren too; Levi’s preference for the alleys over the cleaner cobbled streets. They’re filthy. A menagerie of trash, waste, broken glass, and of course, the urine of the drunkards and street people. They’re dark and dank too, but maybe Levi prefers them to the blazing sunshine of summer shopping mornings.

   Or perhaps, despite how much Levi disliked the Underground, the alleys remind him. Are more his element. It’s okay with Eren either way. He’d accompany Levi through the sewers if it were his preferred mode of travel.

   

Almost past the alley—almost out of it—with a turn, Levi choreographs, and Eren knows without paying attention they are moving back onto the cobbles. 

   Back in the daylight, the baking ball of heat is high above, and before them, appears one of Eren’s most cherished destinations … The Cup and Cosy. 

   There is a man outside preaching, yelling, waving his arms, screaming oddities and piping eccentricities into the hot summer air. Eren glances, then glares, trying to catch his mad blathering, moving on when Levi’s knuckles press at the small of his back.

   “Ignore him,” Levi says, and Eren tries to. He wants to, but his eyes … they are wild and cut like daggers.

   Eren shakes his head, shakes off the peculiarness of the man, listens to Levi, and walks inside.

   The tea room is a cacophony, not of sounds, but of scents and colors and shapes which always leave Eren in wonder, and Levi his guide. He ever follows Levi here and does now; trailing a step and a half behind, knowing and waiting for Levi to tug him when the tea is far too investing. 

   Jӧrg, the proprietor, is behind the counter, raising his big hand, drawing Eren’s eyes from the rows of tins and their ostentatious labels, their perfect rounded corners and the shine of cherished metal. 

   “Levi,” Jӧrg says, overly cheery. “Eren! So good, you’ve come. And on today of all days.” He combs his thick blond beard as they approach, looking giddy. “Just received a shipment, and your timing, as always, is … well, you both have a nose.”

   Other than a sideways flick of his eyes, Levi ignores Jӧrg and strides smoothly toward the shelves housing the premium teas. Eren follows, stuck to the Levi-in-a-tea-shop aura as though he were leashed to it. He can’t hear them, but Eren can see Levi’s deeper, slower breaths, knows he’s savoring the scent which wraps around them. 

   “Here,” Levi says, coming to a halt before a shelf holding glinting gunmetal tins bestrewn with etchings of dragons wearing angry masks, claws flexed, their long tails curving around their scaly bodies. Eren hasn’t seen caddies like this in over a year. 

   “Dragon Pearls,” Eren whispers, recalling Levi’s smiling eyes over his teacup on a mid-spring evening last year. How the steam swirled before them, the curve to his lips and his satisfied hum at each taste of its sweet floral flavor. “I have to get us one of these.”

   He reaches for one of the smaller tins, but Levi bats his hand away. “My treat today.”

   Eren frowns and Levi frowns right back. It’s not out of the ordinary for Levi to make more of the shared purchases between them. He earns more money than Eren after all, and it’s always how it’s been, but Levi is spoiling him today. Summer chicken soup, Dragon Pearls, no oiling gear, nor sharpening knives. If it’s because of what happened with Hanji, Eren’s not sure why he deserves it. 

   He looks at the evidence of Levi’s healing, yet still broken nose. He went through so much less than Levi.

   “Why?” Eren asks, mouth parched, voice low and dry as though they were speaking in a library. 

   Levi grasps the tin. “Because I said so.”

   There’s no arguing with that, and not in the middle of the shop with Jӧrg humming away in his dichotomously high-pitched voice while he fixes a pot of what is definitely Assam. 

   “I have something special,” Jӧrg says, watching amber liquid fall with enamored fascination from the spout of a teapot which looks like a child’s bauble in his grasp. 

   Levi regards him with what Eren knows is restraint, eyes gleaming as he hums low and approaches the counter, coming to a halt before four displayed tins. His index finger taps one in the middle as he raises a brow and jerks his chin at Jӧrg’s tea. “A new Assam?”

   “Buttery one, my friend.” Jӧrg leans closer, takes a sip from his flower-bedecked gold-rimmed teacup, stubby pinky extended, and drops his voice. “Something your Eren here will like.”

    _Your Eren,_ Eren thinks to himself and tries to keep the grin from his face. Levi always scowls over these pointed-out endearments from the townsfolk, flushes a hint of pink-almost-not-pink. When Hanji does it, he growls and tells her to shut the fuck up. 

   Eren doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move a muscle or plead, _‘buttery,’ please Levi, please let’s get this one._

   Levi’s fingers drum on the countertop, the only sound within the sanctity of the shop. And Eren thinks he probably won’t choose it simply because of Jӧrg’s embarrassing remark. 

   “We’ll take one ‘buttery’ and two of the regular.”

   Jӧrg smirks so satisfied and knowing Eren thinks for a moment Levi might tell him to wipe the fucking expression off his face. “I have a new Kamairicha as well …”

   Levi squints at Jӧrg, and Eren observes them. Watching Levi haggle and banter over tea is like watching a ringer play cards. 

   With a wave of his hand, Levi says, “The tax is too high.”

   “It’s rare and well worth it,” Jӧrg ups the ante with widening eyes and a too big smile surrounded by his long beard and mustache.

   “You’re not the only one around here with Kamairicha,” Levi says, “don’t pretend you are.”

   Eren’s toes curl, his fingers tremble with that itchy twitch that settles in the tips lately when Levi is so mesmerizing. He couldn’t force words from his salivating mouth if he wanted to join the tea discussion.

   “This is better than what Everard has.”

   Levi crosses his arms. “I highly doubt that.”

   “Give a man a break,” Jӧrg says and takes a dainty sip. “Can’t blame me for wanting to keep the business going.”

   Levi sets the Dragon Pearls on the counter and holds up his fingers. “That’s four tins.”

   “And I do thank you for the business.” He shakes his head. “If it wasn’t for these damn taxes.”

   The crazy man outside screams ‘taxes’ half a moment later like some kind of omniscient echo. “Taxes at half! Taxes! Worse than it was before. Taxes, taxes, taxes!”

   “Don’t pay him any mind,” Jӧrg says, pulling a sheet of waxed vellum from under the counter, “thinks he’s helping.”

   “Is he?” Eren asks. “He’s hollering like a nutter. No one’s going to listen.”

   “That may be true, Eren,” Jӧrg says, “but can’t say I disagree with his tax talk.” He shakes his head. “Though, when he gets going about insurrection …” Jӧrg heats wax without lifting his eyes to meet Eren or Levi’s. “I’ll put it this way, I don’t fault him, but having the MP’s down here cracking heads … s’not good for business. Tends to make my customers squeamish. Ruins their taste for a good cup too.”

   “Mm.” Levi frowns, and Eren knows it’s close to a sneer. 

   The uprising may have changed some things—the faces, the names, who have been stuffed into whose pocket, and what kind of luxurious cloth that pocket is made from, but the more things change, Eren has learned, the more they are the same. 

   Politics are still politics. Agendas are still agendas. Authoritarians are still authoritarians. And the corrupt are always corrupt.

   As are the majority of the MPs. 

   They’re still a bunch of arseholes if you ask Eren, and things aren’t so much different than they were before they displaced the king. Sometimes, Eren wonders if it was really worth it. It’s definitely not what he pictured. The taxes are higher than they were before, fifty percent on luxuries such as tea and biscuits and Levi’s sumptuous soap—so many of the things Eren loves. 

   Then there’s the newspaper. For a moment, the reporters were publishing the truth, and then once again, they weren’t. And knowing what he knows doesn’t help. When Eren walks through town, he sees citizens who have little idea of what’s really happening. Of course, they know about Marley and the ocean and the ships. They know Eren lifted them from the water and scuttled them on the shore. They know about some of the technology. How would the Crown explain a railway and guns and high luxuries like lightbulbs and telephones and radios and photographs without letting some of the truth slip out?

   Still, they don’t know much. Not in comparison. Most Eldians don’t know what a threat Marley is, nor the rest of the world refuses to aid them. Despite the secrets, there’s a shiver that runs through the towns, through the villages, through the country. As if half the people tapped into a foreboding dream only to whisper of their visions to friends and acquaintances and loved ones, passing along tidbits of truth on a winding susurrus. He hears it outside of the taverns, at the corners of the buildings, in the alleyways, and now it seems, from a lunatic standing on an overturned crate on a busy intersection in the market district.

   Eren doesn’t know why, but it reminds him of something that came before, or maybe, something that came before the before … 

   

Levi’s knuckles brush Eren’s, drawing his attention away from the man outside the window and his virtuous indignation and back to the tea shop. 

   “Eren …” Levi says.

   Eren shakes his head. “Sorry.” 

   Levi doesn’t say anything but keeps an eye on Eren as he pulls out his billfold and lays his money on the counter. 

   Jӧrg has finished wrapping and sealing all four of the caddies. “That’s all for today?” he asks, making change. 

   “Yes.” Levi loads the tins into his satchel. 

   “Always a pleasure.” Jӧrg is relaxing onto his stool behind the counter, sipping his tea as delicately as a high-collared spinster before unfolding the morning paper as Levi opens the door.

   Nodding, Levi holds it open for Eren and hums.  

  “Tata, I’ll be here if you change your mind about the Kamairicha,” Jӧrg adds with a half-smile before Levi coaxes Eren back outside and onto the cobbles.

   “Strange man,” Eren mumbles.

   “Indeed.”

 

Through more throngs of shoppers and townsfolk milling about, peasants and pickpockets, whiskey dealers and sidewalk dice players, they travel. Levi masking his limp while huffing about how everyone stinks like swine, Eren beside, yet following. 

   They visit the bladesmith where Levi snarks over the over-estimated grade of the blade oil. Their third stop is the alchemist for soap, odds and ends, and a shaving cake, then the broomsman for furniture polish in addition to a last-minute splurge on a new ostrich feather duster. Their final stop on Anduin’s Row is at the confectioner’s to purchase sugar cubes for Eurus and Vaka. 

   “Just two pounds,” Levi says, “they’re spoiled enough, they don’t need to get fat too.” He pauses, and looks at Eren as the proprietor, Sarah, fetches the scoop. It’s a piercing gaze Eren feels like Levi’s hands caressing his skin before he lifts his eyes from the veritable rainbow of treats in the display case.

   “And …” Levi continues. 

  Eren’s eyes dart back and forth. Moving from Levi to the little jars. Levi, jars, Levi, sliding to the purple-hued containers, and then to Levi once more. 

   He scratches the back of his neck, fiddles with the hem of his thin summer shirt, then tugs at a stray wisp of fringe falling before his right eye. 

   Levi’s almost smirking at him. “You were eyeing the blackberry ones, Brat.”

   Eren bites his lip. _Brat._ It’s been a little while since Levi last called him that. 

   “Those too,” Levi tells Sarah.

   There’s a pang in Eren’s chest. Levi is being so kind to him today. Why? Today is nothing special. 

   Levi is unequivocally behaving strangely. He’s curt and driven—of course, Levi ever is—and seemingly propelled by something more than making summer chicken soup, but he’s also delighted and light. 

   And there’s no sense in arguing with Levi when he’s like this, so Eren doesn’t. He smiles and shrugs with an “All right, thanks.”

 

After fetching vegetables, their last stop is the butcher for a fresh, plucked, whole chicken. The final errand on the way from the heart of the town, right at the edge of the market square, kiddie-corner from the trail leading to HQ, across from the produce carts. 

   Eren shifts on his feet, watching Levi contemplate and compare slaughtered fowl for size, shape, and meatiness. He readjusts the burlap sack in his right hand. The scallions are sticking out the top and keep poking his wrist. 

   Wandering past the pork shanks as Levi haggles with Ralf, the butcher, Eren looks out the shop front window. There, talking to Simon, the fruit seller is someone tall—ridiculously tall—almost as big as those tiny titanlings Eren can kick like a ball. Their blond head towers above the rest of the patrons squeezing peaches and rapping their knuckles on apples as if they were asking “are you ripe?” and would receive an answer. 

   The hair is unmistakable. Stupid, almost helmet-like, and fairer than even Armin’s. 

   Eren glances at Levi, standing with his hand planted on his hip, looking bored. He’s complaining about one sterling for a chicken which hasn’t been adequately plucked, though it’s a perfect size, and oh, by the walls, those giblets do look plump! 

   Turning his attention back to the tow-headed giant, Eren squints, peering from between two lengths of sausage hanging on display, and he thinks, or, perhaps he simply imagines, he meets the person’s eyes. Either way, they are full and vast and crazy. 

    _Yelena …_

   It’s like she can see him, but no, it’s not possible. There are a sign advertising conies glued to the window glass with wheat paste, and the links of brühwurst obscure him to at least below his ribs. She cannot be looking at him. Maybe she simply needs venison or has a hankering for some ox testicles. 

   Eren leans closer.

   “Leg of lamb,” he whispers when he nearly brushes his nose against one.

   He takes a step to his right, behind the densest part of the dangling jagdwurst bunker to spy. 

   She’s accompanied by Floch who is poking a lemon rather than paying much attention to his ‘charge.’ “Two stupid, ugly, blond idiots … fits well,” he whispers.

   The burlap tightens in Eren’s grip. The captured Marleyans are allowed to travel in town with their guards, they have to eat too, after all, but why today of all days? And why with Floch?

   Yelena is not necessarily unbalanced, but over-exuberant. If she sees them … if she sees Eren … 

   Levi forbid it, and Eren’s already broken that rule more than once. What if she becomes too excited again and tries to talk to them? 

   His ears prick. What if Levi is almost finished with Ralf?

   “Pluck it and knock off five coppers for the wait.”

   “How about I throw in half a pound of mini wieners,” Ralf counters.

    _Ooh,_ Eren thinks with a pang of relief. That might be a good deal. He and Levi both like mini wieners.

   Levi clicks his tongue. “We’re not interested in wieners today.” 

   Eren sighs. That’s disappointing.

 _Please,_ he thinks, begging his jittery fingers to still around the feather duster, _please don’t give in yet, Ralf. Make Levi argue a little bit more. Offer a whole pound of mini wieners._

   There’s a prick of guilt at the thought. It’s nearing ten-thirty, and Levi will want to get back. He’ll want to be home chopping and searing and preparing his summer chicken soup, but Levi’s also stubborn as one can be when it comes to negotiating prices, and unless the Trost bell tower chimes noon, he’s not likely to relent. Especially not when there are a few stray feathers left in what amounts to the chicken’s armpits. 

   Eren leans down again, peering through his sausage peephole. Simon is handing Yelena back a basket. She nods at him, says something, elbows Floch, glances at the butcher shop, and then points to Duncan’s on the other side of the street.

   He’s probably the only tailor who can sew her clothes that fit. She’s taller than even Mike was, for Maria’s sake.

 _Please, please need a new hat,_ Eren silently pleads, _or a coat, or sock garters, or maybe some cute buttons._  

   Heart flipping, Eren watches her stride down the street, taking one last glance at the butcher’s before she opens the door to the tailor’s and steps inside. Eren releases a breath. 

   Now. He and Levi have to leave now. Yelena’s probably craving something hearty and will be on her way over here next for some mutton or a fine cut of beef. She likely eats more than Eren does himself. 

   “I’ll get the rest of the feathers,” Eren offers, turning his back to the storefront, hands behind his back. 

   Eren expects Levi to look annoyed he decided to stick his nose into the bartering solely on principle alone. Surprisingly, he doesn’t but smirks instead.

   “Should have held out half a minute longer, Ralf. You would have made five extra coppers.”

   Ralf scoffs as he cuts a sheet of paper and drops Levi’s lightly feathered but five-copper-cheaper chicken on it. “You wouldn’t have given up anyhow, Levi.”

   Levi inspects his nails, looking pleased with himself, eyes twinkling when he glances up at Eren. “You can still do the feathers.”

   Normally, Eren would groan and slap his forehead for his impatience and hasty offer. Of course, it would all be for show. He never minds helping Levi, especially on a day when he’s been so kind, but there’s no time for their usual games, he needs to get them home or at least away from the shops. He throws on his sweetest grin. The one that never fails to make Levi’s lip twitch. 

   “I don’t mind at all.”


	10. A Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some long notes here, but they're important. I don't usually write the "this was hard to write" chapter notes, mainly because as an empathetic writer, my experiences writing stories with this kind of emotional slant are personal and I couldn't easily explain them anyway. That being said, [sugarplumsenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarplumsenpai/pseuds/sugarplumsenpai) deserves heaps of extra thanks regarding this chapter. She deserves extra thanks, a million hugs, posh green tea, and goats milk dark chocolate too.
> 
> The initial bits of this chapter came when I first started writing into this story. Before I was even sure I'd sign up for the mini bang, when Eren was still babbling to me, still dropping scenes and snippets on me and I didn't even know if this was all a story yet or simply WCQ meta.
> 
> From the beginning, writing anything in this scene was _painful._ I could only get half a sentence down before Eren was sobbing and I was ugly sobbing with him and had to stand and pace and couldn't breathe. I'd be writing and chatting with Sugarplum and tell her "I'm in the letter," and she was always there, sending hugs, asking if I was all right. Whether she was on vacation, busy with work, or working on her own story, she was like a rock.
> 
> I struggled and sobbed and it came to a point where I had to let her write into this section a bit for me. This is unusual for us. We poke and point out, meta talk, ask questions and give each other suggestions when we beta each other, but we don't usually write in each other's documents and add or edit for the other, and when we do, they're minor suggested tweaks that we often tweak into our own voices anyway. This was different though. I was beside myself, crying before I could even type a letter. She had to copy what I had and play around with it. I know it wasn't easy for her or her own Eren either, so to do this meant so much to me.
> 
> Originally, Eren wanted this story to be three arcs like it's counterpart, and there came a point when we were having a discord phone chat to talk about our stories when I told Sugarplum I thought this section was derounding the final arc. She agreed and I removed it. It sucked to take something out that I spent so many tears on, that both of us did, but I was also relieved I didn't have to finish it. It was shortly afterward that Eren and I decided this needed be set as chapters, and close to the last minute, Eren stomped his foot at me and insisted we complete it and add it back in since now it wouldn't deround it. Plus it was extremely important to him this be here.
> 
> Long story short, writing this was awful. Fucking terribly painful and without Sugarplum's help it wouldn't be here at all. So really, big extra fucking thanks to her. 
> 
> One more tiny thing: I might speed up the posting a bit. Without going into a huge explanation, being in the posting phase isn't allowing the characters to move on to work on other things. It's still active to Eren and for him it's like he's reliving the story and he can't "let it go," so if I have the time and feel like it, I might drop an extra chapter now and then like I did last night.

Levi wordlessly declares summer chicken soup a weekly tradition.

   Minutes pass into hours, hours pass into days, days pass into weeks, and soon it is the close of July. 

   Eren’s heart aches.

 

Levi’s bag is on his shoulder, filled with towels, soap, shampoo, and the comb Eren uses to untangle Hanji’s hair. Eren looks at the clock as Levi moves to depart. It’s just shy of nine-thirty on Friday night.

   “You don’t have to do this … Armin and Jean …” Eren begins, wringing his hands.

   “They can keep trying, but it’s been a month. She’s filthy,” Levi says. He looks weighted, pulled down, tight. “I shouldn’t have waited and let her escape last week.” Levi shifts more than he ever shifts. From foot to foot as though he stole Eren’s own idiosyncrasies just like Eren stole his stoicism. “We tried, but—” 

   “If you have to do it, I want to help!”

   Levi’s fingers tighten around his satchel’s strap as he looks up at Eren with piercing grey eyes shadowed by a narrowed frown. “You don’t need this tonight, Brat. You need to lie down.”

   “But …” When does either of them need any of this? It doesn’t matter Eren has a migraine. Today is no worse or no better than any other day, and life never gives Eren or Levi reprieve, so why should Eren get a break when Levi doesn’t? “I’m not letting you do it alone, and fuck, why won’t you …”

   Levi cocks his head when Eren doesn’t go on, worrying his lip. “You’re not going,” Levi says, “I mean it.”

   Eren mirrors him, catching the unmended crack in his lip between his teeth. He clutches the fabric of his trousers. “No, Levi, I …”

   “Eren, no.” Levi tucks a stray lock of hair behind Eren’s ear. “Something’s dark in there today,” he whispers, brushing a fingertip over Eren’s temple. 

   Hiding most anything from Levi is impossible. It ever is, but it’s uncharacteristic for Levi to come out and say so with anything more than “what the hell’s the matter with you?”

   Head bowing, Eren peers at Levi’s shoes. 

   “You slept like shit last night again,” Levi says. “You’re head’s a mess. It’s getting worse. You’re having night terrors again.”

   He doesn’t remember that. All he recalls are dreams of kisses and hands on skin, and breath and nips on his neck. But maybe he dreamt he was dead again.

   “Oh … I—” Eren hesitates and rubs his eyes. This is probably why Levi’s been spoiling him lately.

   “You were … upset.” Levi pinches his brow. “I couldn’t wake you up.”

   “Sorry,” Eren says. He draws patterns on the doorjamb, figure eights dancing around knots and nicks. Levi sleeps poorly enough without him making it worse. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

   “The crickets were too loud.” Levi shrugs.

   Eren swallows slowly around the ache in his throat. “Would it be better if I stayed here tonight?” It’s the least he can do.

   “Tch.” Levi shifts his weight and glares at the paneled wall behind the head of Eren’s bed. “The plaster is paper-thin, I hear it all anyway. Besides, I already fluffed your pillow.”

   Eren has an argument on the tip of his tongue, yet falters.

   “I’ll be back by eleven,” Levi says, adjusting the strap on his satchel. He squeezes Eren’s hand, thumb brushing over his wrist before he steps back from Eren’s door. “In the meantime, get some fucking rest.”

   Eren nods. “Don’t forget to give her the cookies.”

   “I won’t.”

  

A pang seizes Eren’s chest as he shuts himself into his room.

   His temples are pounding, but he can fight through the splitting ache, through the gritty soreness in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here on his own. Still, he has a task to tend to. He’s been contemplating it for months, and it has nothing to do with taking any rest.

   Shaking his head, Eren crosses his quarters. Beleaguered, yet driven on numb legs. It’s too dark, and he lights a second oil lamp, the match hissing in the breathless quiet, before the flame trembles to life. He traps the unsteady glow behind the lantern glass, and sits at his desk, hands feeling like another’s as he rests them on the wooden worktop.  

   Now. Eren has to do this now. If he doesn’t today, he may not dredge up the nerve again, and Levi will never know.

   His time grows short.

   Opening his top left drawer, Eren retrieves his most precious of parchment. An indulgence he purchased when he was seventeen, along with a fountain pen and a jar of high-grade pigment. He hasn’t used either much in the intervening years. There are few times he has been away from his family and friends, and even fewer he has been from Levi.

   Despite that, several begun and unfinished thoughts hastily scratched on scraps lay between the unused beige sheets. Stilted and incomprehensible, fleeting sentiments, half-sentences, half-words, and half-thoughts that rolled through Eren’s mind during the last few months. They come often, more now as the grains in the sandglass plummet, and the days turn, the nights fade, and another round of jasmine blooms burst. 

   They are goodbyes. Ramblings. Justifications. So many ‘I’m sorry’s.’ 

   Eren closes his eyes. He needs to try for another. A proper letter. An apology … no. 

   An explanation. 

   A truth to leave behind. 

   Eren wishes he could leave his heart, he knows he will, but Levi, when Levi asks it questions it won’t give him answers. Maybe he’ll hate it. Perhaps he’ll want to stab it or saw it in half or smash it under his boot. It would be his right … it belongs to him anyway. But Levi still deserves something else once Eren is gone. 

   He also deserves to know he was loved. 

   Separating used scraps of emotion-strewn vignettes from blank sheets of virgin paper, Eren spreads his notes across his desk. Half-formed thoughts to his left. Envelopes to his right. Pristine letter-to-be lying before him. He shifts on his seat. There’s little preparation still to be done. 

   It feels so mundane. 

   He smooths the vellum on his desk, carefully, reverently, pressing his touch into the paper. 

   Maybe when Levi reads Eren’s scratches of thought, he will feel it. 

   Where to begin is always the most challenging part. Usually, Eren starts in the center of the page, whimpering as he transcribes bits of his heart from torn off bits of paper. The center of a missive without a proper introduction, without preamble, hoping he’ll find words for that later. 

   He pulls the ink closer, dips his pen, careful not to spill any. It is leaden, yet small in his clumsy fingers as he pinches the corners of his eyes. Levi could always scribe with much more flourish than he. 

   If only he could have a bit of his flair for words now. Then again, this is not an official missive sent to the Commander, the Capital, nor the Crown. It isn’t a report, nor a requisitions form.

   This is Eren’s soul. 

   His hand hovers. 

   His bottom lip catches between his teeth.

   His eyes cloud with the first wisps of steam.

 _Dear, Levi,_ he thinks— _Dearest, Levi—_ no … there isn’t a correct salutation for him. Or, at least, not one Eren knows of. He presses the nib to the paper. It stains. It makes an imperfect blob before the steel scratches on delicate parchment. 

   He can’t even get this right. 

   Eren gulps.

_Levi,_

The name alone prods at something. A flood of words stirred by feelings that should feel like comfort, only they don’t.

   Thoughts come easier when put to paper than they do from the mouth. Eren looks up, the planks of his ceiling blurring, and wonders why that is. He wonders if his words sound like himself when he writes or someone else. There are sentiments staring back at him when he looks at his letter which he could never whisper to Levi with voice. They don’t … they don’t come out correctly. And they could never be right.

   There are odd wishes. Like hearing the beat of ocean waters battering cliffs he sometimes sees in his dreams. Sometimes he longs for the sound of that or what he imagines the sound would be. And he wishes for a little house at the shore of the sea he’s never seen. He wants them to be rid of this world and live there. It makes no sense. 

   Holding onto a fanciful vision, Eren writes another line and lets his heart take him away. 

   He never thought he would have to do this. He etches his thoughts in the steadiest hand he can summon, explaining he never believed he would say goodbye this way.

   _I didn’t think I would have to trick you. I didn’t know I would keep secrets._

   “If there was anyone …” he says, the whisper finding its way onto the paper, “anyone I didn’t want to lie to, it was you.”

    _I thought we would fight side by side …_ “Maybe we still will.”

    _Maybe._

He pulls at his hair to numb the tearing in his chest. 

   And the pen falls from his hand, leaving a splotch on the paper. Frantically he grasps for a handkerchief to mop the little droplet up. 

   He can’t begin all over again. 

   The nib scratches and Eren barely thinks until he runs out of ink and his words are only carvings in vellum.

   Carefully, he re-inks his pen and retraces his lines, staring at the revealed words as if they were written by someone else. 

   “Please remember …” _I didn’t do it to hurt you, any of you. I did it to save you._

_I loved you._

   Resting the pen beside the inkwell, he rubs his steaming eyes and runs them over lines so foreign they could be in another language.  

   It feels like a suicide letter.

   Too much certainty.

   Too much melancholy and tragedy and, _you were, we were._ _You were, you were …_ So much past tense as if Eren were already gone and were never to return. 

   It feels like that. Down into his bones. It is absolute and sure, and he is so very afraid that there will come a shift. Whether it be his death or Levi’s hatred. Something is snapping, beginning at the edge; insidious, like a parasitic crack Eren cannot hope to halt from prying itself wide. Everything will change. 

   Nothing will ever be the same. 

   The pen stops in the middle of a word. Eren scowls. This is not what he intended to write.    

   He holds the paper aloft, translucent from the lantern’s glow behind it, his right hand hovering above the desktop, fingers tense and bent. They remind Eren of dead spider legs. 

   He frowns and drops his fist to the desk. He wants to crumple the letter up, to take all his words and cast them into a fire. If he doesn’t leave them for Levi, perhaps none of his fears will come to pass. Maybe etching them, memorializing them will somehow create realness, like a monster born from paper and ink.

   Biting his lip, he allows the sheet to fall to the floor, and then, resolute to find idyllic phrases to say something, he slides out another piece. The motions as he settles it before him are so familiar they come without thought—palms smoothing what is already infinitely smooth, fingertips pressing the corners, searching for phantom creases, eyes scanning the empty surface, imploring it to help. 

   He pulls the inkstand closer and begins afresh. 

    _Levi,_

   Committed, Eren presses the nib just below Levi’s carefully scribed name. There’s a mark now. Permanence. It looks like a star made of pitch. He needs it to be a comet. 

   His grip curls tighter. The pen shakes in his hand. How does one write the first letter of a word they don’t know, Eren thinks. How does he describe his heart and what sits within it? Beneath his skin. Beneath muscle. Beneath the hard shield of bones he’s not sure aren’t even his own anymore.

   Bewildered, Eren braces his ankles against the legs of his chair. Instead of excuses, he’ll give Levi the truth. He begins to scribble down feelings. The feelings are his.

   His curtain billows in a mild breeze creeping through a permeable groove in the window. The scent of jasmine touches his nose. The gentle movement gives Eren goosebumps. It looks so innocent. As if nothing were wrong with the world. As if it wasn’t cruel. As if Levi wasn’t in the other building right now, helping a friend, already seeming so far away.

   He lunges over the page, lip clamped between his teeth, eyes flicking through the steam, hand gaining speed.

   Feelings scratch and carve, loop and swirl, scribbling themselves into memories. 

   Levi swathed in green and light and power, and, at the time to Eren, god-like and shining through his blurred haze. The hardened line of his brow and his surety while Eren struggled, panicked with a spoon in his mangled titan hand. 

   The kindness of a handkerchief passed from small fingers to ungainly ones to catch the blood from his nose. How eyes Eren barely knew as anything other than hard, then, softened. 

   He dips his pen, the tremble in his fingers, riding up his arm. 

   Strong arms holding Eren as vague images of giant trees flit by.

   Tea and chess and laughter.

   Memories.

   A timeline of reminisces which are engraved on his heart. Levi’s compassion and goodness that Eren knows Levi doesn’t believe he possesses.

   So many kind moments from a kind man, Eren has neither the time nor pages to recount them.

   Breathing strained, Eren’s eyes flit over the page, over lines which will never convey what he wants to say.

   _It’s the best I can do,_ he thinks, _it’s as perfect as I’ll ever make it._

   It’s better than nothing at all.

   He looks at the clock. Ten-thirty-seven. Eren will never do better than this.

   He glares at his shaky writing, the way the letters have spread from each other as the message descended. How the space between each line widened. He wishes he could have made it neater.

   Sucking up all his worry in a sharp breath, Eren folds the letter. Top third meeting the bottom third, the edges of the parchment perfectly even. He draws his nail across each fold, making it crisp and sharp and proper, like the folds Levi prefers in his made bed.

   “I hope this is good enough … Levi.”

   He opens an envelope and stuffs the missive inside. It feels far more cumbersome than paper ever should.

   Eren doesn’t have a stamp for wax. He never thought to spend his meager savings on an ‘E,’ a ‘J,’ or something fitting of him.

   He heats red wax, dripping it as neatly as he can over the flap of the envelope. Levi will probably frown as the messy application and how much he’s wasted to keep it shut.

   Eren tries to find a smile. Perhaps, it will make Levi tingle with a ‘stupid brat’ before he reads words which will surely break his heart.


	11. A Bee Sting and a Bath Plan

A week later, August sweeps in, dry and sweltering, dusty and faded in places, and yet, vibrance explodes at the tips of flower stems, honey flows, and vegetables lie fat and brilliant in the farmers’ fields.

   

Levi and Eren are in the stables brushing Eurus and Vaka, and Valtari-Varúð is, as usual, whizzing figure eights around their feet. 

   “Careful, Varúð,” Levi hisses when Valtari-Varúð launches himself toward a honey bee.

   Shifting until he’s obscured behind Vaka’s head, Eren whispers, “Valtari.”

   “I heard you.” 

   Eren snickers. Of course, Levi did. They’ve been bickering about the name the entire summer, and still haven’t settled it, nor have they tried in the grass as Levi suggested. 

   He bites back a smile, and pulls the comb through Vaka’s mane, peeking out from behind her. 

   Levi’s eyes are almost closed as he runs the brush over Eurus’ neck, and Eren’s chest twinges with warmth when he sees the bulge of sugar cubes in Levi’s pocket, have once again, shrunk. Smudges of dirt soil his shirt and trousers and pieces of stray hay stick in his hair, but framed in the late afternoon light of the sun—despite how he would disagree—Levi is a beautiful mess. 

   Abandoning his comb, Eren pats Vaka between her ears and then takes a step. 

   Sometimes, when he’s with Levi, Eren moves without thought, drawn to him it seems. It’s as though his legs don’t take him. Like his feet hover and pull him through the diminishing distance between them. He doesn’t attempt to stop himself, and Eren is confident he couldn’t just now if he were inclined to.

   Levi wouldn’t like to have straw stuck in his hair, nor that smudge of earth on his cheek, and Eren has an intractable urge to brush and clean them away.  

   He glances at Eren, narrowing his eyes, though he continues brushing, the motions slowing. “Ready to concede?”

   Stuffing a hand in his pocket, so he doesn’t reach forward and touch too much, Eren shakes his head. “About the name? No.”

   “It’s confusing him,” Levi says, “this weekend, we’re figuring it out.”

   “Not likely,” Eren says. “but, you could just give in.”

   Levi snorts. “That’s less likely.” 

    _He’s so cute when he’s stubborn,_ Eren thinks and grins. 

   “You have … I—right here, there’s,” Eren begins when Levi looks like he’s about to tell him to get back to work. His hand moves up. Not touching, but hovering. Why can’t he just do it? If they were in Levi’s room, or under the willow, he’d pluck the hay from his hair without hesitation. “I mean there’s …”

   Levi frowns. “Spit it out.”

   Eren’s fingers twitch. “There’s a piece of—”

   “Hope we aren’t interrupting anything,” Jean says. 

   Freezing, Eren’s face heats, and all he wants to do are turn and hide in Eurus’ neck and punch Jean in the nose. His fingers curl as his hands drop at his sides. Doesn’t anyone announce themselves around here anymore? How rude!

   Eren turns, about to ask Jean what the hell he wants, and then he sees Armin.

   “Why are you here?” They never come to the stables. People avoid it as though it were diseased since he and Levi began duty here for fear Levi will have them mucking the stalls.

   “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the stables cleaner,” Armin says. He stops and nods as he takes an appraising look.

   “They were a mess,” Levi says, coming to stand next to Eren. “I should start handing out duty again.”

   Jean rolls his eyes. “Please don’t.”

   “For the brats,” Eren says. Jean can be so dense sometimes. 

   “I know,” Jean says, “I wasn’t serious.”

   “You sounded serious.”

   “That’s because you lost your sense of humor. I already told you that.” Jean smirks, and Eren scowls. “Oh look, it’s Scraps.”

   Eren grinds his jaw. “Valtari.” 

   “Varúð.”

   Eren wants to agree with Levi just to make Jean shut his fat mouth, but he’s not giving an inch on Valtari’s name. That will seal the deal, and he’ll never be able to take it back. Then Valtari will be Varúð and not Valtari, and his name will be forever wrong. 

   “The kids in the courtyard were calling him Greg,” Armin says, mouth twisting, looking unsure whether he likes the name or not, or whether he should have told Eren something so utterly ridiculous. 

   “What?” Eren presses his palm to his forehead. “He doesn’t even look like a Greg.”

   Jean scratches his beard. “Doesn’t look like a Valtari either.”

   “Oh yes he fucking does,” Eren says, lunging closer. “Just look at—”

   “What do you two need?” Levi asks. 

   “Oh,” Armin begins, lips drawing a thin line as he takes a breath. “It’s about Hanji.”

   “Something wrong?” Levi asks.

   “No, nothing wrong,” Armin says.

   “We had another chat with her today,” Jean says.

   “More negotiations,” Armin adds. 

   Levi raises a brow. “And?”

   “It’s taken a shitload of convincing, but we’ve made a breakthrough. She’s finally willing to try the schedule,” Jean says, planting his hands on his hips.

   Armin blinks, it almost looks like a wince. “ _Try._ ” He nods once making air quotes. “There was a lot of emphasis on that word.”

   “That’s an understatement.” Jean shrugs and rocks back on his heels. “Anyhow, we’re going to _try_ it tomorrow. She already could use it, and I made this.” He strides to the next stall over and hauls up what looks to be a small table top about three feet long and a bit more than a foot wide. 

   “The bath table,” Levi says. He sounds unconvinced. 

   Armin scratches his brow. “It’s worth a try. We’ll see how it goes, but Jean and I will handle it. She penciled in every other Friday in her book.”

   Eren wonders if Levi is comfortable with this. There’s a shielded, yet turbulent air about him, and his shoulders look tight, or perhaps it’s only because he’s crossing his arms. Or maybe it’s the way Armin and Jean found them. Eren wonders too, how Levi didn’t notice them while faced toward the front entrance as he was. 

   Shrugging, Eren asks, “Has she been eating any better?”

   “If Sasha bribes her with cookies for dessert, she’s been finishing it,” Armin says.

   Jean rubs his hands together. “Not that any of us are complaining about extra cookies, least of all, Sasha.”

   “We started a supply fund,” Armin says, “for the ingredients. Sasha bakes twice a week.”

   Levi runs his fingers through his hair, knocking the piece of hay loose. That’s regrettable. “Take the shit from the kitchens.”

   “Need authorization on a requisition form,” Armin says, “and we weren’t going to ask Hanji.”

   “Bring it by my quarters tonight,” Levi says, “I’ll sign for it.”

   “Isn’t that breaking procedure?” Jean asks.

   “Fuck procedure.” Levi sounds exhausted again. “If she loses her shit, I’m in charge.”

   Eren bites his lip, drowning out the chatter. Besides the fact that Levi would detest it. Besides the fact Levi has told Eren he would never want to be the Commander, it would affect Eren’s plans. That is if he doesn’t breakdown and tell Levi of them. He’ll need to send communications. Passing them on to Hanji will be more straightforward. How would he even begin one to Levi? It was difficult enough to scribe the nonsense he did last week. And it took him months to build up the nerve for that. 

   No, this cannot happen. Hanji can’t lose her shit, the baths must—

   

“Eren, grab him!”

   Eren starts and shakes his head. “Who? What?”

   “Scraps,” Jeans says, crouching, seemingly blocking off the entrance to Eurus’ stall. 

   Armin is circling to Jean’s left very slowly. Gingerly.

   Levi is holding a bucket above his shoulder, wearing the kind of frown he does when everything goes to shit in the field, and he has to figure out a new strategy. 

   “He’s in the corner,” Armin says, pointing. “Behind you!”

   Eren turns.

   “Something’s wrong with his paw,” Levi says.

   “He yowled and started shaking it, and then just ran,” Armin adds.

   “See if you can get him, Eren,” Jean says, his voice softer than it was earlier, “if he gets past you, I can try and grab him.”

   Eren can see Valtari in the corner, hunkered down, shaking his paw. He eyes Eren carefully as he moves closer. His back twitches, his puffed-up tail swishes, and his whiskers tremble. 

   “Easy there,” Eren says, creeping towards him. “Easy,” he says again in the same voice he uses when Vaka is spooked. 

   Valtari cowers when Eren reaches out, but he doesn’t run, and only meows as Eren picks him up. 

   “What’s wrong, Sir?” Eren asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

   He cuddles Valtari-Varúð, brings him over to Levi, and Armin and Jean circle around. If Valtari didn’t need their help, it would probably look silly. Three grown men crowded around a kitten held lovingly to Eren’s chest. 

   Levi inspects his paw with a gentle hold, squinting his eyes at the little pad on the bottom of his left front foot, and takes out his jackknife. 

   “He was stung,” he says. “Hold him still, I have to scrape it out.”

   Armin grasps his paw while Jean scratches his head as Levi rids his foot of the stinger and its poisonous sack with a deft flick of his knife. 

   They all look with grim fascination. The kind of morbid curiosity that should spur one into action immediately yet doesn’t. Like the brain sputters and trips over _what to do, what to do?_

   “It looks pretty swollen,” Armin says after a few stretched moments, grasping his chin. 

   “Son of a biscuit,” Eren says, “it’s blowing up like a dirigible.”

   “Maybe he’s allergic like Connie,” Jean says. 

   That could be dangerous, Eren thinks. “Oh shit.”

   “We’ll take him to Hanji,” Levi says. “She made those injections for Connie, maybe they work on a kitten too.”

* * *

Levi and Eren burst through Hanji’s door, skidding to stop before her desk. 

   She flicks her eye up, only for a moment, before it’s glued back to whatever she’s scribbling notes on. It looks like a map. “It’s not bath night,” she says, waving her hand, “and I already talked to Armin and Jean. You two should too.”

   Hanji’s so engrossed in whatever she’s doing she’s hasn’t noticed Eren is holding a kitten. He frowns.

   “It’s not about that, four-eyes,” Levi says, “we have a small emergency.”

   “Our kitten got stung,” Eren says and nuzzles Valtari-Varúð’s head. “He might be allergic.”

   Hanji finally looks up, frowning while scratching her head with her pencil before her expression morphs, and she gets that crazy look like she’s about to explode. The one that makes Eren take a step back because she’s going to descend on him. 

   She practically vaults over her desk. “You two have a cat!”

   Levi rolls his eyes. “Not really. He stays mostly in the stables.”

   “Oh,” Hanji says, smirking, “then we have a mascot.”

   “His name’s Valtari.”

   “It’s Varúð.”

   “Let’s take a look at him, if he’s having a reaction we should intervene with haste.” Hanji maneuvers her way past book stack towers, rolled up map mountains, and teetering paper piles to her adjoining lab.

   Eren hasn’t been here for a while, but there is a striking difference between the lab and Hanji’s office and personal quarters. Beakers and scientific equipment stand clean and neat on shelves, the work surfaces are clear, save for larger pieces of equipment, and something bubbles away on a bench against the back wall. Most likely the failed cure she’s been working on for four years. 

   He shakes his head and passes a mewling Valtari-Varúð over when Hanji extends her hands to him.

   “He seems to be breathing all right,” she says. “That’s a good sign.”

   “Mmm.” Levi only hums, but Eren can see the relief in his expression, evident in the fine lines around his mouth relaxing along with the shallow crease his brow. He unfolds his arms, and peers at Hanji examining Valtari-Varúð’s paw like a concerned mother. 

   “It’s swollen, all right,” Hanji says.

   Levi strokes Valtari-Varúð’s spine. “No shit. Is he going to be okay?”

   “You know what got him?” 

   “He was chasing a honey bee earlier,” Eren says, “Levi scraped the stinger out.”

   “Good you removed it, it would have been worse.” Hanji pulls a magnifying glass from beneath the work surface. “Hold him still.”

   Valtari-Varúð is surprisingly cooperative, purring as Levi clasps both his hands around his middle and Eren holds his arm and rubs between his ears.

   “You got it all.” Hanji squints and scratches her head. “His respiration rate is good, but he’s fairly swollen. I think he has a mild allergy.”

   “Does he need a shot?” Eren asks. He’s sure Valtari wouldn’t appreciate that, but if it’s for his own good …

   Hanji shakes her head as she taps her chin then scratches Valtari-Varúð’s ear. “No. It’s not severe enough, but that paw should be wrapped, and he needs to be looked after for the next day.” She smirks. It’s wild and wolfish and holding back something barely contained. “You two will need to take him home for the night.”

   Levi cocks his head and crosses his arms. “Absolutely not.”

   Eren deflates. “But—”

   “He has fleas.”

   “You don’t know that,” Eren says, planting his hands on the bench with more force than usual. “We can’t just put him back in the stable.”

   “What if he has worms?”

   “Fine!” Eren says, “I’ll put him in _my_ room. I bet he’s cuddly.”

   “It’s right next door.”

   It’s been a while since Eren has been angry with Levi. It happens now and again, it always has, but this—Levi is acting ridiculous. Eren wants to tell him so too. At the moment, this is Eren’s hill to die on, and he’ll do it while snuggling a kitten in his arms, and when he goes to bed cold and lonely and sorrowed because they argued, Valtari will cuddle with him instead of Levi. Maybe he has fleas, and Eren will even be bitten by them. He doesn’t care.

   Gritting his teeth, Eren snatches Valtari-Varúð. “I don’t give a shit what—”

   “I’ll babysit him,” Hanji says, moving between them and taking Valtari-Varúð into her arms. 

   Eren frowns, and Levi releases a breath. 

   “I know what to watch for better anyway.” Hanji smiles when Valtari-Varúð rubs his little face against her chin. “And this way Grouchy-puss doesn’t have to worry about _fleas_ ,” she says, pausing, “and you two don’t fight.”

   “Tch.” Levi scratches his forearm. “It wasn’t a fight.”

   It almost felt like one. Eren focuses on the too big loop in his right shoelace. “No, it wasn’t.”

   “Good,” Hanji says. “I’ll put some salve on his paw and look after him. It would be nice to have an assistant again anyway, temporary as he might be.”

   “Thanks.” Eren gives him a scratch. 

   “Fluffy might be young, but I’m sure I can find him a job to help with.”

   “Fluffy?” Eren and Levi say in unison.

   Eren’s not sure if he gets the “Valtari” out before Levi’s, “Varúð,” but Hanji is cackling maniacally while they both frown. 

   At least it’s good to see her back to herself.


	12. A Visit

In the subdued chaos, Eren forgot it was a paperwork night. He scowls to himself as they trudge up the stairs to the third floor. Stupid fucking lonely paperwork night. Eren despises it. 

   He didn’t think about it when he offered to take Valtari-Varúð to his room for the evening, too grouchy and gloom-ridden he would be spending it alone anyhow. If he had, he would have controlled himself. He wouldn’t have raised his voice to Levi and almost started an argument.

   Though it would have been nice to have Valtari-Varúð for the night. Then he’d at least have a companion.

   Levi’s been quiet on the walk back. He hasn’t looked at Eren or brushed his knuckles with his own. He seems lost in thought, contemplating something more poignant than Valtari-Varúð’s stung paw. Eren wonders if he’s angry. 

   “I’m sorry,” Eren mutters as they swing into their corridor. 

   Levi halts and regards Eren with narrowed eyes and his little what-the-fuck frown. “For what?”

   Twiddling his fingers before him, Eren huffs. “For arguing with you about Valtari.”

   “Varúð,” Levi corrects.

   “Whatever,” Eren says, waving his arms. “Point is, I’m sorry.”

   Lips twitching, Levi rolls his eyes. He looks like he’s about to poke fun at Eren, maybe even laugh. “I’m not pissed at you. There’s nothing to say sorry about.”

   “I yelled at you.”

   “So.” Levi shrugs and gives Eren a gentle shove toward their rooms. “You yell about all kinds of things.”

   Accurate as that may be, it still doesn’t sit right, and not on Wednesday when Levi will be holed up at his kitchen table with his ink and pen, scowling at papers and tapping his toe while he sips on dreary Earl Grey. 

    _Boring,_ Eren thinks. 

   There’s always a pressure on them these night before they part. Poundage like a too thick and heavy blanket. As though it were made of lead, and Eren imagines Levi can see in his expression what he sees in his. 

   “Hungry?” Levi asks. “You need supper.”

   What Eren wants is to watch Levi smile over chess and tea while listening to his jokes and then to hold him, but he’ll take what he can get. “Sure.”

 

Dinner is a quiet affair which doesn’t carry its usual brightness and warmth. Instead, there is a melancholy antsiness running through them both as they crunch pears, sip Assam, and eat leftover sliced sausages on toast. 

   Still, it’s over too quickly, and Eren departs to his room, muttering to himself about stupid paperwork night. 

   He growls, flipping his left boot from his foot, sending it flying at his door, glowering. Perhaps he is pouting a bit too. 

   Of course, his room is stuffy and hot and unwelcoming. He wrenches open the windows, hoping some of the scents they bring through Levi’s will reach him too.  

   The breeze is a moderate relief for the stifling atmosphere, though not enough, and quite typically, it doesn’t carry the fragrance of perfumed blooms. He groans, takes off his shirt, drops it to the floor, and then sourly leans against the wall and closes his eyes. Even the knotty wood paneling is hot, but he’s too filthy with the day’s grime to lie on his bed. 

   Levi’s chair scrapes the floor in his quarters. Eren blinks.

   Brows drawing together, he glares at the wall. At the barrier. He imagines it wasn’t there at all. He imagines he could smash it or send it away. It’s like the wall which still stands between them—so thin anyway, flimsy, constructed not too many years ago when these buildings were commandeered and reconfigured for the barracks to accommodate the growing SC. 

   Now, there come Levi’s footsteps, padding into his bedroom beyond the thin plaster and lath board before the little bumps fade as he moves off to his bathroom. It’s almost like being there, in Levi’s quarters with him, so close, though so very far away. It is like being a ghost. Eren reopens the crack in his lip. Steam twists in his periphery and he breathes it in then blows it away with a blustering breath. 

   These sounds won’t cease when Eren departs. When he leaves Levi behind, his feet will still walk the boards in his rooms, in trails and paths he rarely diverts from, alone and solitary, and quiet. 

   His bed will be cold. The sheets unwrinkled. The chess pieces won’t move. Eren’s favorite cup will stand in the cupboard, friendless and withdrawn. Empty and tealess. 

   Running his hands over his arms, Eren kicks off the wall. He inhales sharply. He cannot think of this now. It’s too dominating, and it claws when he allows it to get the better of him. Like a monster. A hideous, remorseless beast bent on defeating Eren by forcing him to defeat himself. 

   He tugs at his hair and listens to the rush of water through Levi’s pipes. 

   He smacks his forehead, not too hard—not too hard, only enough to shake the monster back to the oily corner in which he resides. 

   “Fuck,” he whispers, then asks himself, _What would Levi do?_

   Levi would tell him in a firm, yet tender voice to breathe—yes breathe. Slow even breaths. He would say to count. To begin at ten and work his way down, then up, over and over until his heartbeat slowed to a gentle stroll and his eyes stopped steaming. 

   

It’s a useful trick. Enough that Eren drags himself to his washroom to shower too. The water in Levi’s has already stopped by the time Eren manages to get himself there. He looks at himself in the mirror. 

   “You have to keep moving forward,” he says, staring hard at himself. It’s a reminder he forces himself to believe. It’s the only way. 

   Putting his back to his reflection, Eren scrubs his face with his hands and twists the spigot until the water flows. 

   There isn’t much time spent alone, and there’s something he must do tonight. It takes tremendous focus. And an immense amount of casual numbness which Eren must settle upon his skin as he would a concealing cloak. 

   He’s attentive of his breath as he finds the little, hidden bundle in his cupboard, unwraps it, and sets his old razor on the edge of the tub, then finishes undressing. 

   Eren should be practicing every day, but it’s been a week and a half since the last time. It’s so much easier than it should be—than he should allow—to be swept away with summertime and the stables and the willow and Levi’s tea, and pretend. To wish that things could be this way forever. 

   Sometimes Eren can temporarily trick himself into believing they aren’t on the precipice of war and everything isn’t about to change. But even if Eren weren’t planning to commence the violence, reality obtrudes. He knows it’s coming anyway. 

   What Eren is doing is evening the odds—tipping the scales, making them teeter until the slowing seesawing halts, and they balance. He’s giving them a chance to counterpoise Marley and the rest of the world without committing suicide. 

   “Focus,” he whispers. 

   If he doesn’t have this down. If he doesn’t get this right when he goes to Liberio and is forced to reveal himself at the wrong moment, all his butchery will be in vain. And he’ll likely perish.

   He steps into the shower, the curtain falling like a shroud, insulating Eren from the ordinary. 

   While he washes away the dirt, he rinses away his feelings. Down the drain, they go, like filth. Swirling, churning, caught in the drag of the miniature whirlpool by his toes along with the suds from the posh bar of cassis soap Levi gave him. 

   Speaking of which, Eren grasps it, thrusts his arm from behind the shower curtain and stretches to set it on the side of the sink. It doesn’t feel right for it to bear witness to what he’s about to do. Not Levi’s soap. Not the kind gift he gave him because Eren kept sniffing the cake every time they took a bath. It’s sacred. Precious. 

   He rinses his hands, pulse racing, and sits on the floor of the tub. The tepid water beats his back and shoulders. His muscles tense. He takes his razor from where it balances on the rim of the tub. 

   He presses glinting steel to his skin, watching with perverted fascination as a line of red appears.

   The razor cleaves his wrist like a carving blade through tender pork. The blood drips down his arm like the juices of a roast. He saws through, sinew, tendon, artery, ligament, and muscle with the same utilitarian purpose he would if he were slicing servings of meat for a celebratory dinner. 

   Taking a breath, he wrenches the blade between his bones and pops the joint. 

   It doesn’t hurt to do this. Not really. There is pain, but like having his leg and arm bitten off or chomping into his hand, it doesn’t drill and anchor itself the way his migraines do, or even stubbing a toe. 

   His gut doesn’t twist anymore. It did at first, but as the pieces became bigger, the numb grew stronger, and his heart smaller. Or perhaps, he found a way to protect it. To wall it off. 

   In the beginning, he would envision saving everyone he loved, but it interfered. Now Eren only pictures the mission. He rifles back into memories which aren’t his own for decimation and hatred and scenes of blood-drenched despoliation. He can feel it almost as keenly as the blade rending last remaining thread of his skin.  

   This part is simple. The removal, the steam, the spray of blood, the sound when his left hand drops in the center of his crossed legs. 

   He tosses the appendage to the end of the tub like discarded rubbish. It smacks when it hits porcelain. The steam interferes with his concentration. This is what Eren truly needs the practice for. To will his wrist to heal without completing itself with a newborn replacement hand. To break through the daunting, yet very human reaction of shock, of wanting and needing it back. To calm the dread. 

   When he panics, his extremities grow back, and quite fast, but when he goes to Liberio, he’ll need to play the part of an amputee long enough to cement his plans. He’ll need to be sure his calf and ankle and foot won’t return in his sleep. 

   He grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at his wrist-now-stump. His heart gallops by now, it always does. A scratching voice in the back of his mind screams it won’t grow back and he’ll be stuck like this for the remainder of his short life. Worse than being handless, he’ll be caught. 

   Eren swallows, sharpening his concentration. Meditating on—chanting; _I don’t need this hand. I don’t need this hand. I don’t need this hand._  

   The stream from the showerhead pours over his head as he leans back against the cool porcelain. His hand and most of the blood has long since dissolved, and the end of his wrist is shiny pink with fresh tissue. It no longer steams. 

   He pants, curling his arms around his legs. He forgot to time himself, but the water feels like shards of ice hitting his skin, and he’s shivering. How he would so much prefer being in Levi’s warm tub with his hands on his shoulders and his grumbling about Eren sloshing water onto the floor. 

   “Fuck, not now,” he whispers, gripping tight around his forearm. He can’t think of Levi when he does this. Every time he has in the past, he’s lost his grip on himself, and his finger or thumb or hand or foot has sprouted right back. 

    _Only a little longer,_ he thinks, enduring the chill. 

   After he counts off three-hundred-and-sixty seconds, he stands and directs the water at the bits of blood which didn’t clear, then turns off the spigot.

 

It’s with a grim interest Eren lies back on his mattress still wet, sopping hair soaking his pillow as he holds his not-hand-hand before his face.

   Glancing at his pocket watch, he notes the seconds, and then he narrows his eyes. Eren pictures the end product as tiny fingers grow from his wrist, wiggling, twisting, waggling like the eyestalks of a slimy snail. 

   There’s a burst of steam as a miniature thumb emerges, and then a palm. Thrawn and malformed as the appendage twists and stretches until the infant bones snap into place with a grotesque crack. 

   He looks at his watch. _Twenty-two seconds._

   It’s an improvement. Tomorrow he’ll work on his foot.   

 

Eren tests his fresh hand, spreading and flexing his fingers before his face, touching the whorls of new fingerprints, watching the remains of the steam dissipating in curling wisps from his skin. 

    _Knock-knock-knock._

   He scowls at the disruption. It’s sharp and abrupt, reminding him of pebbles hitting cobbles. It’s not Levi’s knock. 

    _Mikasa._

   “Give me a minute,” he says as he scrubs a towel over his shower-wet skin and opens his bureau to fish out a pair of drawers. Not tonight, not tonight. Tonight is the worst night for her to come prowling around. Eren was looking forward to suffering alone.

   Alone. He hasn’t spent much time by himself. There have always been people around. His parents, neighborhood townsfolk. Armin, then Mikasa. After that, the refugee camps, training, and then his comrades … finally Levi. He shakes his head, he better get used to it.

   “Eren …” he hears, muffled through the wood when he hasn’t answered the door. He can almost feel Mikasa glaring holes into him. 

   “I said just a fucking minute.”

   Of course, she doesn’t give him a minute or even half of one and opens the door just as Eren is sticking his right foot through the leg of his briefs. 

   He looks over his shoulder and frowns. How could he forget to lock it? “I’m not even dressed!”

   Closing the door, Mikasa raises a brow, greeted by the sight of Eren’s bare arse. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

   “Not the fucking point,” he says and pulls up his underwear. “What if I was jerking off or something?”

   “I’ve slept in the same room as you,” she says, wincing, “so I’ve seen that too.”

   “For Maria’s sake! What is wrong with you?” _Ridiculous!_ Eren never did that out in the open. Only under the covers far away from the others in the middle of the night, and only when he woke up from dreams of Levi, and his penis was so hard it hurt and he couldn’t think it away. 

   “You’re not at Levi’s.”

   Eren throws his towel on his bed. “Obviously.”

   Mikasa eyes Eren’s wet pillowcase, then him. “Why is there steam in here?” she asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

   “Er …” Eren’s heart crashes into his ribs. He could lie and say he was crying, but that will open up a path of conversation Eren has no interest striding down. Instead, he opts for the truth-not-truth. “Cut my hand on my razor. I’m an idiot.” 

   “It’s paperwork night,” Mikasa says. She glances at the wall that separates his and Levi’s quarters. 

   “Of course it is, know-it-all. It _is_ Wednesday.” Eren crosses his arms instead of finding pants. It’s too hot anyhow. “Is there something you wanted?”

   She doesn’t answer him right away, but moves to Eren’s cruddy little kitchen table and sits. “I was worried about you.”

   Rolling his eyes, Eren huffs. She’s talking in that low, quiet tone. The one she uses when she’s going to needle him and poke and talk to him as though she believed her name was Carla Jäger. 

   “‘Worried about me?’” Eren repeats. “What’s new?” He goes to the kitchenette, makes a show of lighting a little fire in the stove, and then puts the kettle on. “Suppose you’ll want some tea too.”   

   “If you’re offering.” She sticks her nose in her scarf. Isn’t she fucking hot in that?

   “Seems I am,” Eren says, “wouldn’t want to be rude.”

   “It’s been a while since we talked.”

   Eren shrugs and busies himself, filling his little teapot with tea. He chooses Earl Grey instead of Oolong. It’s dull, but it’s what Levi drinks on paperwork nights. It doesn’t seem fair for Eren to have something tasty and special without him. Besides, Mikasa has a taste for stodgy tea.

   “I don’t have lemons.”

   “You’ve been anti-social.”

   “I’ve been busy this summer, taking care of the horses, breaking my arse, shoveling shit …” He pours piping water over the leaves. She knows something’s going on, and it’s easier to lie when he doesn’t have to look at her, nor feel her scrutinizing gaze crawl over his face.

   “You could at least come to the mess now and then.” 

   “Maybe …” Eren says, non-committal. He’s not promising shit.

   She wraps her fingers around the teacup handle when Eren sets it before her and sits. “It doesn’t have to be every day. I—we miss you. Both of you.”

   That hurts. Right in his chest. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Levi makes better food.”

   Mikasa’s lips twitch, but her brows draw closer together. “I know you like Levi’s cooking, but you used to like stew night.”

   Usually, Eren does like stew night, but his friends don’t need him around. It will only make it harder for them when he leaves, and he knows they might not understand. They might be angry with him. Worse yet, they all sense something is wrong when they have him pinned down with a hot bowl of homely meat and vegetables steaming in his face. It’s as though the savory flavors disarm him. 

   “I don’t anymore,” Eren says eventually, “it’s too heavy in this stupid heat.”

   “Maybe just once a week. On sandwich night?” Mikasa’s hand slips across the table toward Eren’s, but he fastens it around his cup. He doesn’t need her pitying touch.

   “It’s too loud in there, too.”

   “Has your head been hurting again?”

   Eren shakes his head, keeping his eyes downcast. “No.”

   “Memories?”

   “It’s not that.”

   “You’ve been weird. Even for you,” she begins, “I thought maybe something was going on with you and Levi. That something was wrong … or maybe better. That something changed.”

   “What would change?”

   “You’ve two have been spending a lot of time alone,” Mikasa says, tapping the handle of her cup. Eren knows by that particular tic, this is only the build-up. “I thought perhaps you two …” she trails off and blushes. “You’ve been sleeping in his room more since winter.” 

   Eren feels his eyes widen. Is she talking about sex? “You thought we what?”

   She rubs her forehead and squirms in her seat, looking uncomfortable. Good. Eren’s not comfortable either. He can feel his neck and ears heating. He knows they’re turning red, but he’ll endure it just to watch her fidget. She’s the one who brought it up, after all. It’s her own fault. 

   “I thought your relationship, that’s to say, you and Levi …” She shifts again and hikes her scarf higher as though she could hide behind it. “I thought maybe there was something new … something physical.” 

   Eren covers his face then drops his hand to the tabletop. It is about sex. How does she even know what they do or don’t do? It’s not like he talks to anyone about it. Not even Levi. It’s not as though he ever discusses their relationship unless someone else brings it up first. Which they all have an irksome habit of doing. But when they do, he keeps his answers as short and as under-detailed as possible. They’re more shrugs and grunts and one-worded answers. Who could divine anything from that?

   “So, you came here to ask if I was too busy fucking Levi to have dinner with you?” 

   Despite her obvious embarrassment, Mikasa rolls her eyes before averting them to something interesting beyond the window casement. “No. I want to know what’s going on. You’re acting strange.”

   “According to you, I’m always acting strange.” He blinks down at his tea, cursing the bitter, dull Earl Grey. “I’m just trying to enjoy my summer.”

   “Is it because of Historia?”

   “Huh?” Eren sits back in his chair and allows his eyelids to droop. Hopefully, Mikasa will tell him he looks like a psychopath, then stop her niggling and leave. “I’m still pissed, but I’ve been pissed for three years. Not like anyone cares what I have to say or anything’s going to change.”

   “It’s the only choice we have.”

   Eren scoffs and flings his napkin to the other side of the table. “So we just sit here and wait? How can everyone be so stupid?”

   Her gaze snaps back to him, and she narrows her eyes. He doesn’t move a muscle. 

   Eren’s privy to truths the rest of them aren’t. Waiting won’t work. They’re deluding themselves. They only have half the plan, Eren will take care of the rest. Shore up the weaknesses. Commit the sin. Destroy the rest of the world if he has to. Become the monster. 

   If he survives, he’ll only have four years to enjoy it, but if it is effective, he’ll take it, and spend the rest of his time deceiving himself. 

   He understands their ignorance. Sometimes, in this in-between time, he can almost forget too. Sometimes he wants it. If it were a viable option, he could live in relative peace without ever lifting a big titan finger. Eren could begin the rumbling without ever leaving their shores, then live out his life and say goodbye to Levi properly before he passed his titans on to someone else.

   He sips his tea and swallows hard. It feels like something pointy sails down his throat. The thought would make the prospect of being chained up and eaten a little more bearable.

   Mikasa’s staring between an imperfection in the table’s worn wood and Eren. Like she always does when she’s gathering her thoughts, trying to find a way to say something she knows good and well is going to tick him off or upset him. 

   She rubs her hands together and leans forward. She’s looking at his nose instead of his eyes. Eren knows what’s coming. “You don’t have to protect us if that’s what this is about.”

   Skin going cold, Eren closes his eyes. It’s so close to the truth she could be inside his head. She could know. She doesn’t. She’s talking about his lifespan, but it doesn’t stop the pang in his chest, nor slow the wild beat of his heart. 

   “I’m not trying to protect any of you,” Eren says, “you think about this shit more than I ever do.” And it’s probably true. At least it’s one thing he doesn’t have to lie about.

   “You don’t have to,” she says, “you say you aren’t, and I know you want to spend all the time you can with Levi …” Mikasa looks up at a gust of breeze through the window. Eren can finally smell the jasmine blossoms. “Just remember, we love you too.”

   “I—”

   He gulps and nods. His eyes sting. His chest constricts. His throat burns as he bites his lip. She found one of his weaknesses. He can’t look at Mikasa, or his fraying thread of control will snap, so he peers at his new fingers instead. 

   Eren doesn’t hear her move, but he feels her hand on his shoulder. This time, he doesn’t pull away. He didn’t realize how much he missed his family and friends. 

   He might not come back. He should spend time with them. Give them a pageant of memories they will want to hold onto. Recollections of him when he wasn’t a prickly bastard, treating them as if they were worth less to him than a passing nod. 

   And what if they don’t have long either? 

   What if he isn’t making the right decision? What if he costs them their lives? 

   “Eren …” she says.

   Pinching his eyes shut, he sniffs. “I love you too.” It comes out high and coarse. He sounds like he’s ten years old again. “I’m sorry.”

   “You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, and her voice is so soft and gentle. It hurts as much as it soothes. “What’s wrong?”

    _So much,_ he thinks. He has to choke on the worries to keep them from coming out. He’s made a decision for all of them. One that will perhaps kill him, whether in Liberio or when their decimated troops inevitably come to Paradis for revenge. Maybe everyone will despise him. Perhaps he’ll die with them hating him. Perchance they won’t come to help.

   Most days, he thinks he can live with their animus if it means the people he loves will survive and have long lives. 

   Right now, he falters, and his resilience cracks. Just as some days the lifespan petrifies him. Those are the same days he thinks it’s unfair. The times when his impending death doesn’t feel abstract and far off. The moments when time feels as though it were speeding up.

   He tries to slow his breathing and wipes his eyes. “I—I don’t want to hurt you guys.”

   “You’re not,” she says and sinks down to his level. Her eyes are too shiny. “I just miss your smile.”

   Mikasa’s hugs have mostly always been emotion-driven and foisted upon a squirming Eren, but he doesn’t wiggle out of her arms when she wipes his cheeks and then wraps him up tight. Just this once, at this moment, he can give in, close his steaming eyes, and rest his forehead against her neck. 

   For once, Eren can find strength in his own breaking heart instead of convincing himself, it no longer exists. 

   “I miss you too.”


	13. Not in this Stable

Levi was right. Of course, he was.

   Eren’s only surprised it took until August. 

   The horses are secured, and all that’s left for Eren to do at the moment is stand back and watch the show. He wouldn’t dare interfere or get in the way. 

   He looks through the crumbling hole in the stable wall, all at once irritated and excited. Levi is grabbing some Marleyan imbecile by the arm and kneeing him in the face. Eren thinks he heard the bitch he must have been screwing on the hay bale call him Alfie.

   Then there’s _her,_ an MP; petrified, attempting to dress as hastily as possible, covering her breasts with her hay-littered white button-down clutched to her chest while wrestling her pants over her hips. 

   “Captain, stop!” she yells. “Please.” 

   It’s unnecessary to say they were warned. All at HQ know better than to intrude inside the hallowed walls of Stable Two.

   Levi glares. Charmingly devilish before kicking the man on the ground in the gut. He curls in on himself, groans, and mutters something that sounds suspiciously close to ‘Underground rubbish.’

   Smirking, Levi kicks him again. “Why don’t you call me a demon.”

   He looks like he’s enjoying himself, and after getting over the initial shock of the destruction, Eren must admit, he’s enjoying himself too. It’s definitely fucked up, but Eren finds it sort of sexy when his little captain is so fierce.

   “We didn’t know—” The man coughs. A tooth falls out.

   “It’s not nice to tell fibs.” Another glare and another kick. This one is more venomous than the last. Levi probably would have stopped if he said he was sorry. “Didn’t your mummy teach you that was rude?”

   “Captain!” the woman pleads. “That’s enough.”

   Eren thinks she should run away. If she believes Levi wouldn’t hit her because she’s a woman, she’s mistaken. 

   “Not in my stable. What if we needed these horses?” Levi says before the beating continues. 

   The guy probably named Alfie continues making remarks, and Levi answers with his fists and his feet. His ankle will be bothering him later today. 

   Eventually, Levi runs short on verbal comebacks, which means he’s very, very pissed. So furious, in fact, he takes his contained rage out on perhaps-Alfie until more MP’s show up, and skid to a stop, lanterns swinging in their hands. 

   Levi sneers and tosses possibly-Alfie on the ground before them. “You fuckheads are supposed to be guarding these shits, not fucking them.”

   Eren watches in satisfaction when a shiver seems to take the lot of them from left to right as if it shot through them like a wave. They mutter and mumble in utter shock while looking to each other for answers or explanations none of them seem to have.

   “Cap—Cap—Captain Ackerman,” the MP who appears to be in charge says, standing stiffly, hand twitching through his cropped black hair before he thrusts it to his chest in an overeager, yet tense salute. 

   “Kissarse,” Eren whispers from his spectator's spot in the stable. 

   The MP approaches Alfie-maybe-Alfie who covers his genitals with his hands. “Get up.”

   Levi says nothing but folds his arms in a perfect mock imitation of a man who would enjoy being addressed as _Captain Ackerman._

   Eren snickers. 

   “It won’t happen again,” says Mr MP-in-charge, quietly, submissively, fist white-knuckled and still adhered to the center of his chest. “If we’re done here?”

   “I’m done.”

   “Be happy he didn’t kick you around too,” Eren mumbles with a half-arsed salute. 

   

Levi is pinching the bridge of his nose when he returns to Eren. 

   He paces to Eren’s left then his right. “Won’t come near here since we took over for fear I’ll put a shit shovel in their hands, but they have no problem sneaking in to get their corn ground.”

   Eren snorts. It’s really not funny. They’re going to be stuck shoring up the breach and cleaning until sunset. Eren’s hands will be steaming with splinters and scrapes and nicks by the time they’re done. 

   “The horses aren’t too spooked,” Eren says, “Eurus was snorting and spitting, but he’s calmed down.”

   “Hmm.” Levi goes to him, strokes his neck, and gives him a sympathetic look. “Good boy. Hope you got him in the nuts.”

   They weren’t there to see it, not really. Eren and Levi entered the stable during the moment of pre-aftermath. The kind of late entry which makes one scowl and think, _if only we had left ten seconds earlier._

 That’s all they would have needed. The dust hadn’t settled, and the intruders were still undressed when they strode in, Levi lengthening his steps until he saw the rift, then descended upon the naked man gasping and sprawled on the trimmed grass outside. 

   It might have been worth the repair work had they been there early enough to see him flying through the wooden wall. 

   “I’ll go get wood after we clean this up,” Eren says. They better get started. He can already feel the humidity of the day. “I’ll need a requisitions form.”

   “Fuck the form,” Levi says, combing his fingers through Eurus’ mane. “I’d file a fucking report and make them do it, but they’ll fuck it up.”

   “This is going to take all fucking day.”

   Levi cracks his neck. “It’s going to look like shit if we just cover the hole. Won’t be strong either.”

   They examine it up close in the murky blue-grey-green of morning’s collecting light. The stars are almost invisible, the moon has departed, and in the lingering darkness, the jagged hole looks like gnashing titan teeth are gobbling up the night. 

   Splinters litter the ground, reckless and scattered and sharp. In their panic and fury, the horses caused a deluge of brittle, cured hay to fall. And a crate of oats lies toppled in the abradant dirt. Its contents look more like a spill of thick porridge rather than a peppering of flung dried oats.   

   It will be long after supper time before they see a bath.

   “This is bullshit,” Eren says and kicks a piece of broken planking across the ground, nearly missing Valtari-Varúð as he struts in. “Oh shit! Sorry, sir.”

   He doesn’t spare the broken wood a glance, and as if it were any other morning, Valtari-Varúð trots to their feet and drops a dead mouse. He blinks up proudly, watching them intently as he has a tendency to do when he’s expecting a few bits of cheese or pets of praise.

   “You’re a shitty guard, Varúð.” Levi sounds like he’s about to tell the kitten to go run laps around the yard.

   “Valtari.” Eren smirks. “Hanji let you out early,” he says, gathering Valtari-Varúð into his arms.

   “He was getting an early start.” Levi nudges the deceased rodent with his toe. “He wanted to bring you a gift.”

   “He brought it to both of us.” 

   “Tch.” Levi scratches Valtari-Varúð’s ear. “You can have it.”

* * *

Eren fetches more than wood when he goes to the supply sheds. 

   Armin finds him as he’s poking around looking for long enough boards to replace what was destroyed rather than patch. Levi will scowl at a shitty fix for the rest of his days if they don’t do it right. 

   It’s only half past eight in the morning, and news of the debacle has spread like an unwanted rash across the HQ campus. Eren won’t be surprised if there are spectators at Stable Two when he returns. 

   “It’s all anyone was talking about at breakfast,” Armin says, “consensus amongst most of the MPs is Levi’s a raging arsehole.”

   Eren shrugs. Though in general, Levi is highly respected, it’s not as though his nature hasn’t rubbed people the wrong way. Breaking noses and knocking out teeth has a tendency to leave people with a sour taste. Especially the MPs. Among most of them, the SC is still not their favorite. Still, they should count themselves lucky Levi didn’t pull out his jackknife or file a report.

   “Nothing new with that.” Eren finds a small crate laden with nails and sets them in his cart. “Dunderheads can’t even follow protocol.” 

   He would smack himself in the head if Armin wouldn’t frown at him and grow concerned, then ask if something were wrong. What a hypocrite Eren is. Then again, sneaking into the stable for some fun is bullshit. What Eren’s going to do has nothing to do with uncontrolled amorous desires. He’s going to sneak into the enemy’s territory to save his people, not to get his dick wet. 

   “You two need some help with the repairs?” Armin asks, helping Eren drop the last bundle into the cart. “I’ll go round everyone up.”

   Rubbing his forehead, Eren bites his lip. “I don’t know.”

   “C’mon, you don’t want to spend all day working on this. Rumor says the hole is twenty feet wide.” It will go faster. Armin looks so hopeful, eyes shining like they did when they were kids, and he would show Eren his books and talk about what was beyond the walls. He looks like he did when he had more hope. 

   Eren recalls his conversation with Mikasa a couple weeks back. He’s been better. Going to at least one lunch and one dinner a week in the mess since then, but this … this would be like the old days. Maybe just a little. 

   Levi might grouch, and he’ll order everyone around, assigning tasks, telling them to do it again, but it might keep him off his bad foot too. 

   “More like six feet wide.” Eren smiles. “But, yeah, go get the others.”

* * *

When he returns to the stable, Levi has tidied the oats, and it doesn’t take long to hear the distant chattering as Armin, and the others arrive. 

   Levi isn’t opposed to the help when Eren tells him. He only raises his left shoulder, hunkers down, and glares at the hole in the side of the barn with a faint curve to his lips.

   He’s probably glad Eren’s spending some time with his friends, and perhaps, Levi likes the company too. 

   Armin, Jean, and Mikasa appear through the western entrance, while Sasha and Connie come striding in through the gaping breach. 

   “So, so, so … fill me in,” Sasha squeals, running up to Eren and Levi. Her hands are like whirring pinwheels, and her face is alight with curiosity over the coming gossip. “You have to tell me everything.”

   A raised brow is all she gets from Levi, though he nods at Eren with a silent, _go ahead, tell her all about it_ before he heads away to meet the others. Probably intending to dictate whatever repair plan he’s concocted in extreme detail. 

   “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Eren rubs the back of his neck, recalling Levi’s driven steps, the stern line in his brow, the twitch in his lips. “What do you want to know?”

   “All the details, the filthy ones too.”

   “Especially the filthy ones,” Connie adds. 

   It’s possible Sasha enjoys HQ gossip almost as much as she enjoys food. She’s looking at Eren as though he’s a seasoned roast, laid out on a great big platter with braised potatoes and candied carrots and extra gravy. 

   “They were in here, you know, fooling around and Eurus kicked the guy through the wall. We got here right after it happened.” 

   Sasha giggles, hand over her mouth like a school-aged girl. Eren glances at Connie behind her, face red from holding in a chuckle. Going by how his gaze is trained on Sasha, his laughter is probably that sweet kind which is more over her than the details of that morning’s stable incident. 

   “Were they naked?” she asks.

   “Why do you always want to know that?”

   “Because it’s funnier to picture naked people thrown through a barn wall than clothed ones.”

   Connie snorts. “She’s got a point.”

   Eren thrusts his hands in his pockets. This is going to be a long conversation. “Yeah, they were naked.”

   She holds her arm around her stomach and slaps her thigh. “So the rumors weren’t an exaggeration!”

   “Probably not.”

   “Heard Alfie’s in the infirmary,” Connie says, “telling everyone Levi only went after him because he’s a Marleyan.”

   “That’s bullshit,” Eren says, “he’d do the same to any of us in the same situation.”

   With a wince, Connie shivers. “Good thing I don’t like hay poking my delicate bits,” he says, “I prefer a nice lumpy bed.”

   “The lumpy mattress is the best, not as bouncy,” Sasha adds, frowning. “Then again, it doesn’t cushion the knees so good.”

   Eren closes his eyes, groans, and tries to envision something soothing. He doesn’t need to hear about Connie and Sasha’s mattress preferences, nor does he want to know what the knee comment is getting at. He can only imagine, and that’s only because he can’t help it. 

   “Did Levi really knock out his teeth?” Connie asks.

   “Huh?” Amidst forced images of trees and sunshine, and the gurgling little creek nearby to rid himself of vision of the lumpy bed and Connie and Sasha on it, Eren didn’t quite hear. 

   “Alfie’s teeth; did Levi knock ‘em out. It’s what people were saying in the porridge line.”

   “Oh,” Eren says, “only one, I think. Maybe two.” He wasn’t too focused on Alfie’s mouth or face or anything while Levi was working him over. It was a haze of Levi’s muscles flexing under his thin summer work shirt, his expressions, and his wildly amusing commentary. 

   “There’s always exaggerators,” Sasha says. “At least they got some of it right.”

   Connie rubs his hands together and lifts his brows. “All right, tell us the rest.”

   Eren relents. It’s better than unloading the wood from the cart, he supposes, and Jean, Armin, and Mikasa seem not to be having trouble with it. Any more hands would probably slow them down. 

   He recounts the morning ruckus. Answers Connie and Sasha’s enquiries as best he can while trying to will the tips of his ears to cool. He doesn’t need a mirror to know they’re glowing red, and Levi’s already sent his secret smirk at them twice. 

   At one point, Jean strolls by on his way to the hole with an armload of boards. Eren didn’t expect he would be the one to make the conversation worse, yet the day seems full of surprises.

   “Did he have a boner?” He halts before the three of them with a hand on his hip, then looks over his shoulder at Mikasa ripping down splintered wood. “Word is, he was hard the entire time Levi was kicking his arse.”

   “You too?” Eren says, sighing. 

   The idea of it makes him shiver with disgust. Eren knows he’s a bit fucked up himself. He’s thought about some strange things before when it comes to Levi, things he’s pretty sure aren’t _normal,_ but that would probably kill an erection even for him. 

   Jean shrugs. “Been a boring summer, mate.”

   “I wasn’t checking, ya know.” Eren twists his hair into a bun. He’s sweating already merely from the heat, and the discomfort surrounding this inane conversation doesn’t help. “I don’t think so though,” he says, omitting that Levi’s probably would have kicked it.

   “Good to know,” Jean whispers before joining Mikasa.

 

Not long after Jean leaves them to their devices, Connie and Sasha exhaust all their questions. Eren now knows the female MP’s name is Marla and that she has a thing for the foreigners, it seems. Alfie is her fifth conquest this year alone. He also knows most of the more promiscuous soldiers in town think she has pretty nice tits. Eren didn’t notice those. He also didn’t notice whether Alfie’s pubic hair matched the red strands on his head, much to Connie and Sasha’s disappointment. 

   Despite the rampant sense of embarrassment on Eren’s part, it reminds him of being a kid again. 

   Barracks talk was common when they were younger. Back during training, when the curfew was enforced.

   There were a few decks of cards to go around, some dice, an incomplete set of dominoes, and no chess set. The communal beds felt like sleeping on a rock and during autumn and winter it was too cold to do more than huddle around the stoves and banter over the day’s shenanigans and call each other names.  

   He scratches his head. If he’s honest about it, their proclivity toward the vulgar has grown a bit over the years though. Barring Mikasa and Armin. Though Armin gets in on it once in a while, which always has Eren shaking his head, not sure if it’s a product of age or boredom.

   He shakes his head now when Armin, looking a little too mischievous, thrusts a hammer into his hand. “If you three are done talking about dicks, there’s a hole that needs to be covered.”

 

By early afternoon they’re about to install the last piece of framing. Jean excuses himself  “for a moment” as Eren tries to wrestle the beam into place.

   “Hurry up,” Eren grouses, “Connie’s going to topple her.” 

   “Don’t worry, Eren,” Connie says from where he’s perched on Sasha’s shoulders. Nails in one hand, hammer in the other.

   “They work best like this,” Jean says, and then there goes his shirt, revealing his stupid hairy chest. 

   He smirks at Eren as he helps raise the cross beam the last few inches. 

   Eren scowls, and of course, Mikasa catches him from where she’s talking to Levi and rolls her eyes. 

   “This isn’t so bad,” Jean says, “reminds me of track building and training.” 

   Nodding, Eren whispers, “Me too.”

   He admonishes himself for his judgmental thoughts a moment before and quells them. It’s not like Eren hasn’t discarded his shirt as well, and it doesn’t really matter if Jean enjoys showing off his muscles and his fur-covered chest. Maybe he’s simply grateful he’s lived long enough to sprout the hairs in the first place.

   It’s not much different than Eren’s own fancies. He would like to live long enough to grow a proper beard. He’s wanted one since he was fourteen. 

   Maybe Levi would even like it.

   Eren scratches his chin. It would be scraggly, but perhaps it will help disguise him in Liberio. He won’t be able to bring his razor along with him anyway. He would have to forfeit it when he reaches the continent, and he would never get it back. 

   Levi’s gift is safer here at home. Hanji will be given his first communication explaining his actions two days after he leaves, and then Levi will know. Angry or not, he’ll still watch over his things. 

   Eren rubs his eyes before scanning them over his friends, branding their smiles into his memory as he peers about the stable. This is so normal, quite regular, or rather, like the past. Working together, mopping up the rest of the titans, rebuilding, planning, building new exciting inventions like the railway. Beating up their bodies and exhausting themselves to the sounds of laughter. The picture of ease.

   He wishes he were eighteen again. Existing in the before, in the in-between. In the spell of relative placidity. The median where expeditions and uncertainty lay behind, though before the total war and death which lies ahead.

   Jean snorts. “Oi, careful,” he says, shaking his head. 

   Connie teeters on Sasha’s shoulders while he drives nails into the beam. Armin takes measurements, setting out the planks on the stable floor, scratching down calculations. Levi leans against a crate, watching over them the way he used to when they were young. Mikasa, seemingly unfazed by the heat, fiddles with her scarf, leaning close to Levi, saying something too quiet to hear.

   It’s probably about him. 

   Eren bites his lip. They’re all so important to him. 

   This is what he didn’t want. Why he stayed away. 

   Their smiles and wisecracks, ribbing and playful shoving, leave his heart twisting. The future won’t hold the same kindred comfort, and Eren knows it is a poisonous lie he gorges himself on. Yet in the stable, with the heat pressing into his eyes and the sweat, and late summer pollen clinging to everything, it’s too simple to forget this is the last season of his unspoiled youth-bound days. 

   He falters, second-guesses, and slips as though it were somehow still winter and he was losing his balance on ice only to fall into a familiar embrace.

   Despite the heaviness in his limbs, and the rock lodged in his throat, Eren will not take this from them.

   Hopefully, if he is granted any quarter, this is what they’ll remember. His stupid jokes. Dropping wood on his head when he tried to carry too much earlier. His smile—forced or as melancholy as it’s sometimes been for the day—with all his love and affection in it.

   This is for them.

   And then there is Levi at Eurus and Vaka’s stalls now, sneaking them each a sugar cube when Mikasa leans over to look at whatever Armin is scribbling. Watching, smirking, and grumbling half-hearted orders that are more a joke at this point than anything else.

   Maybe Levi’s always known Eren better. Perhaps he understands him more, or, as silly and romanticized as it is, it’s possible Levi is the closest thing to Eren’s other half there could be. Completing him. He’s the only one Eren knows doesn’t need this, and he can allow to come closer than arm’s length.

   Pursing his lips, Eren allows them to force themselves into a curve and jumps back into the wood-working fray. Today, he’ll allow his friends beyond the outermost layer of his shields.

 

They nail and hold boards with more hands than needed as though each one of them was compelled, on a blisteringly oppressive hot August day, to build a piece of themselves into a sturdy, stable wall. Even Levi joins, regardless that Eren can tell, slight as the evidence is, he is favoring his right foot. 

   The bell for the mess rang a half an hour before by the time they’re done and can all stand back and marvel at the new wall. 

   Levi gives it a few kicks for good measure, testing its strength. He surveys their handiwork, then Eren and everyone else before giving an affirmative nod. “Not bad.”

   “The color’s a bit off,” Armin notes with a tilt of his head.

   Levi sighs. “It will weather.”

   “So, we done?” Jean asks, retrieving his shirt. “I’m fucking starving.”

   “Tell me about it, I could eat an entire cow,” Sasha says, rubbing her belly. Eren can hear it grumbling from four feet away. 

   He smiles. “Some things never change.”

   “You’re all dismissed,” Levi says with a shooing wave of his hand, and all Eren can think about is a bath and him and Levi kneading each others’ sore muscles and a good cup of Sencha before bed.

   They begin to file out, but Mikasa retreats to the heart of the stable where Eren is petting Vaka and stretching his aching shoulders. 

  “Why don’t you and Levi come to dinner?” she asks with a soft grasp on Eren’s forearm. “It’s been a good day.”

   Her eyes are shining. It’s different than it was when she came to his quarters last week. Hopeful rather than pained. 

   He glances at Levi. He doesn’t look as though he’s going to argue as he brushes Eurus’ mane with a raised brow, gaze pinned somewhere around Eren’s elbow.

   “No dishes,” Levi whispers.

   “Yeah.” Eren nods at Mikasa. “I’d like that.”


	14. Wither

Berries ripen. Blooms come and go. The days shorten and heat. Grains of sand cascade in their glass prison. 

   August fades into September. 

   Eren burns his letter. He tries not to mourn.


	15. Titan Practice

Two of Eren’s titan shells lie steaming in the clearing. His armor stands in craggy piles where his fists were, his shoulders, his nape, his feet. They appear like broken headstones marking his dissipating remains or perhaps sentinels. 

   Down below, through huge eyes, Eren sees Hanji cheering, jumping in place, frolicking, urging him on. As though she were in combat, she leaps and kicks a shard of armor like she was kicking a barroom brigand with overly friendly hands in the chest. “It’s so hard! You’re doing amazing!”

   Eren nods, snaps his jaw shut, and roars. He’s managed three successive transformations with no rest and no delay. No height has been lost, no strength nor dexterity, and aside from some mild heaviness in his arms, there are little weakening side effects. 

   Hanji cups her hands around her mouth. “Can you say something, Eren? Try again.”

   Inside Eren is concentrating and speaking. He feels the rumble of a growl and garbled noises projecting wordlessly, yet not soundlessly from his terrifyingly lipless titan mouth. 

   It’s gibberish. Muffled nonsense as though someone took all the letters from his words and mixed them up. _Fuck,_ he says from where he’s nestled inside his titan nape. It comes out as “kufc.”

    _Damn it!_ “Tid nanmed.”

   “It’s getting better,” Hanji calls. “Come on out, we can try more later. You need a break.”

   He falls to his knees, sending a little gust through the clearing. Hanji shrieks excitedly. It always gets her going, and with all the stress she’s under, Eren might as well keep their usual training fun. 

   Exiting his nape, he lands without the slightest crack of a joint. _Perfect,_ he thinks. 

   “Let’s sit,” Hanji says, leading Eren over to the forest’s edge. There’s a basket propped against an emerging root of a tree trunk. “I brought lunch.”

   He’s famished. Levi sent him off with sandwiches this morning, but his hunger burns when he shifts this many times successively. He emerged from the first, then the second, biting into his hand and transforming into the third before his feet hit the ground.  

   Over the years, and with Hanji’s constant urging, he’s improved his skills beyond expectation, but speaking still vexes him. He frowns at the crock Hanji’s set before him. It would be helpful if he could get the stupid titan shell to speak. They’ve worked out a system using hand signals and gestures, but Eren won’t always have his hands free in a battle. 

   Levi’s always able to read him, seems to know what Eren’s going to do even before he does, and though intuitive, not everyone else is so in sync. It would be an asset in Liberio. 

   “I wish I could get a handle on the speech,” he says, opening the crock.

   “You’ll get it,” Hanji says. “Just think where you were six months ago. You sounded like you were about to puke any time you tried to talk.”

   “I might never be able to.”

   Hanji scratches her head. Her hair looks clean today, and Hanji’s mood is light. Her bath with Armin and Jean last night must have gone well. 

   It’s been out of their hands for over a month, and Eren wants to ask how it’s been working with the bath table, but the subject feels sore since Hanji broke Levi’s nose. There’s a sense of relief. The kind which leaves one feeling guilty about the weight off their shoulders. 

   “If you can’t, then you can’t. Maybe you need lips.” She pats him on the cheek. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth trying, Eren. If we could just get a series of sounds out consistently … that would be like creating a whole new language!”

   “I suppose, still wouldn’t be talking.” Eren digs in. There’s roasted rabbit with leeks and potatoes, and the dark gravy is scrumptious. He didn’t realize how hungry he was. He shoves forkful after forkful in his mouth, hunching over the little crock as though a famished food-thief would appear and swipe the nourishment from his hands. 

   He’s aware Hanji’s watching him with mild fascination before she says, “Don’t sound so negative.”

   Eren didn’t mean to. A way to communicate with simple sounds would work, but he doesn’t have time for them to establish it before he leaves, and he can’t tell Hanji that. What he’s doing is deceptive. He’s been working harder all spring and summer on this training because he knows what’s coming, and Hanji only thinks he’s eager. That he's a good soldier. 

   Before he spirals too deep into unhappy thoughts and Hanji senses his unease, he changes the subject. “Valtari, I mean _Fluffy_ , he’s still staying with you, right?”

   Hanji grins as her brows shoot up. “Every evening. He likes being out during the day, but he always comes back by sunset. Right through the window,” she says, imitating a little jump with her hands curled like cat paws. “When it gets cold I’ll probably corral him inside.”

   “So, you’re going to keep him?” 

   “Levi’s not going to let him live with you two,” she says, “besides, he likes my desk, makes a good furry, cuddly paperweight too, and he never gets in the way.” 

   They don’t really live together, not officially. “I doubt he’d let me keep him in my room.”

   Hanji laughs. “You barely use your room.” She backhands his knee. “So, when’re you two going bother me for a quarters change? The shared ones are bigger. Bigger bedroom and an extra hearth. The kitchen’s not huge, but roomier than your kitchenettes.”

   Eren shrugs, heart tripping, and eats a spoonful of roasted rabbit. Something is calming about the texture of the cooked carrots and the tender meat. Chewing gives him time to think. He wasn’t prepared for her to ask about this. It’s been a while, and the last time she mentioned it, Levi was there and told her to mind her own business and shut the fuck up. 

   He’s always thought Levi liked having the option of privacy. It’s not as though he ever asked Eren to start living in his quarters. It just happened, but maybe he wouldn’t want to share a home with Eren where he could never have any time to himself. The others share, but Eren and Levi aren’t like everyone else. 

   “I don’t know.” He rubs his forehead and looks at a fascinating knot in the tree behind Hanji. It looks like an old lady’s face. Thinking of this makes his eyes hurt along with his chest. He might be brave enough—or stupid enough—to ask Levi now, but how cruel would that be? To move with Levi and leave him in a couple weeks.

   After four years, this summer, Eren has felt a surge of _I should finally ask. I should say something. I should explain,_ but he can’t. It’s too late. 

   With his lifespan, it’s probably best for Levi anyway. 

   “Maybe he’s waiting for you.” Hanji tears into her bread, and chews like she rushing herself along. The same way Valtari does when Eren lets him steal bits from his sandwich during lunch breaks. “You know how he is. Doesn’t know how to use his words.”

   “He uses words.” Eren understands Levi. Or at least, he thinks he does. 

   “Yes, like ‘fuck off,’ ‘shit fuck fuckity fuck,’ ‘your tea is shit.’ Grumbly little man.” She smiles. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

   Eren snorts. “I won’t. Wouldn’t surprise him anyway.”  

   “He has enough to worry about without me poking him.”

   “He does.” Eren shrugs, feigning normalcy. Levi will have so much more to worry about soon. 

   Expression sobering, Hanji reaches for Eren’s hand. Her eye narrows. “I’m still working on a cure. If I can just extend the time …” 

   Blinking, Eren swallows. “I know, but I have to be prepared,” he says, “maybe it can help whoever’s next.”

   Coming back is the least he must do. He can’t let his titans fall into Marley’s hands, but the chances Hanji can find something in the next four years is slim. 

   “Yeah,” she says slowly, glaring at her notebook sitting on the grass beside her. As though she could will the words scratched inside to somehow form answers. 

   But Eren’s pretty sure there isn’t a cure. 

   He winds his arms around himself, fingers digging into his biceps. Talk of his non-future always makes him think of Levi’s. Brings to the surface images he tries to send away, ones which leave his nerve and resilience shaken and cracked and perhaps a little bit broken. 

   “Hanji,” he begins and wets his lips. He’s needed to ask this for too long. “You’ll keep an eye on him … won’t you?”

   Hanji frowns. Her mouth opens and snaps shut as though she were keeping something from coming out. “Eren, that’s not—”

   “Don’t tell me it’s not going to happen.” His heart ties itself in a knot knowing she loves him enough to have deluded herself, but Hanji’s delusions of a cure and fantasies of saving his life won’t protect Levi soon, and they won’t comfort him when Eren is dead. 

   “But I’m getting closer,” Hanji says, hands clenching around her knees. “I can feel it.”

   “You have to promise me,” Eren says. “He doesn’t let anyone else in. You’re his family. The others, they have each other, they’ll be all right …” He pauses, looks hard into her eye. “You two need to take care of one another. I know he’ll swear at you and threaten you and tell you to fuck off, but you have to promise. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.” 

   She sniffs. Her chin shakes along with her brows, her lips purse so tightly they go white. “Eren, I’m no good at—he won’t …”

   “I don’t care what he ‘won’t.’” He leans forward, eyes beginning to burn. To steam. He blinks it away as his chest starts to heave. “Hanji, you fucking promise me.”

   Hanji wears an expression which looks like that of a child who disappointed their parent.

   “All right.” It’s a whisper. Almost silent as she looks down. “I’ll do the best I can. I promise.”

   “Thank you.” Eren wipes his eyes, lets out a breath. 

   It’s unfair. Hanji has enough to worry about, enough of her own problems for Eren to burden her with this, yet he has little choice. The best person in the world to look after Levi once he leaves is someone who can stir up his fight.  

   “My best.”

   “I’ll do mine too.”

   “How’s your head been? Is this what’s been making it worse.” Hanji asks, and Eren lets her steer the conversation from his impending death to his migraines. It’s not the lightest subject, but it’s an improvement. 

   “It’s not too bad lately,” Eren says. He doesn’t tell her how the headaches tend to come after he chops off his limbs. 

   “And after training?”

   “No.”

   “Levi said you were fatigued the last couple times. Threatened to extract my other eye.” She laughs, rocking back and forth before throwing the piece of bread that was clutched in her hand into her rabbit stew. 

   “I didn’t eat enough.” Of course, Levi wouldn’t believe him. Eren was glossing it over. It wasn’t Hanji who pushed him though. He was pushing himself to exhaustion. 

   “We’ll go for one more round of three today.” Hanji says, eye squinting into what Eren imagines would be a wink if she had two, “I want to keep my last eye, or I’ll never get my work done.”

* * *

Wrapped up in accomplishment in his second shell as he roars something that sounds close to “Haji,” Eren smiles and knows his titan does too. As best it can with all those extra teeth and a too big mouth. 

   “On to the next,” Hanji yells, and Eren’s big titan head nods. 

   He pulls himself from the fleshy insides, jumps from his shoulder, hand between his teeth when something goes flying past him. There’s no time to stop his transformation, and when he blinks his new titan eyes, the blur sails past him again. 

   There’s black and pale, and brown and creamy white, spinning and zipping, bounding from one side of the clearing to the other.

   Steam shoots from his nostrils, and his titan makes a noise he would be bashful of if anyone heard it come from his human mouth. 

    _Levi._ “Elvi.”

   Levi flies past Eren’s face, grapples moving from tree trunk to tree trunk as he glides withershins around Eren before Eren feels a little bump on his shoulder, and a kick to his earlobe. “She’s not overworking you?”

   Eren shakes his head, careful not to jostle Levi and throw him off. Not that he would. Not that Levi wouldn’t catch himself, but it seems a bit rude. 

   Swishing away, Levi shoots in front of Eren, plants a hook in Eren’s shoulder and lowers himself gracefully to the ground.

   No one makes using the gear look as beautiful as Levi. It’s like he were made to fly. 

   Eren can’t hear what Hanji and are Levi saying from his height, so he kneels and leans closer, trying to catch their conversation with a pointy ear. 

   Levi’s arms are crossed. He nods with his thumb against his chin, meanwhile Hanji’s animated and pointing up at Eren. 

   “Just giving Levi our results, Eren.”

   Eren hums, then snickers when the canopies of the trees shake. 

   They confer a little longer before Hanji raises an arm and shouts. “We’re done for today, Eren. Why don’t you show Levi what you can do.” She gathers her basket and her notebooks and waves. “You two have a good evening.”

   Her grin is huge when she pauses on the path and smiles, then leaves Eren and Levi in the silence of the little forest. 

    _What have you got?_ Eren tries to say. It sounds like “foot add ooh goats.” If only Eren had lips.

   Levi smirks. “Be patient,” he says as he shoves his hand in his pocket and tries to wrestle something too big for it out. 

   Levi produces a little tin and holds it up in his hands. “Silver Needle.”

   Eren’s titan must look so silly. He knows the face he makes. Dropping his jaw, eyes so wide he can feel the strain in his brow. The gasp followed by a whimper at the little can. The last time Levi found Silver Needle, Eren was sixteen. 

   He reaches out carefully, with a slow-motion, then taps the lid of the tin with his big titan finger as gently as he can. Levi frowns but doesn’t drop his arms or put the tea back in his pocket. Reaching out, his fingers close around the tip of Eren’s finger.

   Perhaps Eren is stupid or silly or fanciful … or maybe all three, but with a sudden prodding pang in his chest, he sweeps his hands behind Levi, surrounding him as Eren would a butterfly he was trying to catch. When Levi doesn’t scold him or scowl and only smiles, Eren scoops him into his palm, and as his thoughts prod from his heart rather than his head, holds Levi close to his chest. 

   He hears Levi say his name, feels his little hand flat against his skin where a heartbeat would be if his titan had one. Eren wants to press Levi even closer. This is the nearest he’s ever had Levi to where he would like him to be.  

   He smooths Levi’s hair with his finger, so careful. Gentle. Looks into shining grey eyes, and taps his cheek.

 _I love you._ “El oh choo.”


	16. Yelena

It’s after supper when Eren separates from Levi to take a piss that Floch approaches him. Eren is standing at the head, thinking about teacups and feather dusters and how full he is, holding his penis, aiming as Floch enters and leans brazenly against the wall beside him. 

   “Hey, mate,” Floch says, and Eren supposes less chat is better. 

   “What do you want?”

   He hunkers closer, peering about the loo for onlookers. “Got something for you.”

   “The fuck …”  Eren erupts as quietly as he can as Floch slides a note into his free hand. “Couldn’t at least wait ‘til I shook it off?”

   “Sorry,” Floch says, shrugging before he turns and leaves, door to the latrine swinging and squeaking loudly on its hinges, shooting a crack through Eren’s ears. 

   Eren scans the note and scowls, feeling his eyelids drop. He forces himself to slide it into his pocket instead of tossing it into the urinal, buttons his fly, washes his hands, and returns to Levi. 

   

Hours later, Eren is still scowling.

   He hates these swarmy little meetings. They weren’t supposed to have them anymore. Yelena’s not supposed to even be near him. His mission draws closer. It’s dangerous. Eren told her as much the last time, using the ugliest words he could think of. He looks at the slip of parchment in his hand, sneering. _Shed: ten-thirty pm._

   “Bitch,” he mutters, wads up the slip of paper in his fist, and eats it. He doesn’t have time to burn it, but Levi can’t find out. 

   Swallowing it is like gulping all the betrayal, deceit, and lies; jagged and icy and wounding as it slides into his belly. He hopes it gives his insides papercuts. He hopes it hurts on the way out. 

   Chess and evening tea was called early for this. He lied to Levi and told him he was tired and wanted to sleep in his own room tonight. 

   Holding his hands to his chest, Eren recalls Levi’s mildly crestfallen expression when he told him. How the corners of his lips, which were barely raised, dropped. How his extra blink carved a pang of guilt through Eren’s chest. Levi’s soft and surprised, “All right, then” before he took the teacups to the kitchenette. How his shoulders dragged just a little lower. The dispirited shuffle in his steps. 

   The moon is high and almost full—beautiful. Wasted.

   Eren stretches his neck to bathe in its light, recalling how it accentuates Levi’s sharp cheekbones when he sleeps. The darker shadows under his eyes. How it softens his usually hard brow and thin lips. 

   This would have been the perfect night to lay in Levi’s comfortable bed beside the open window, feeling the breeze on his skin. He can smell the third bloom of jasmine on the wind. He can taste the rain coming. He can hear the crickets singing over Levi’s soft-slumber breath if he concentrates hard enough.

   They’re desires for, and visions of an evening that will never be—one of the last grains tumbling to the floor of the sandglass.

   Eren deflates and pinches the skin between his eyes, stumbling on a forgotten rock. “Stupid … fucking, what the hell!” he hisses, recovering, hands tightening into fists until his palms steam against his nails. Leave it to Yelena to ruin what otherwise has been a perfectly good day. 

   When he reaches the shed, she’s already there. Leaning against it with the sole of her right shoe propped against a decrepit board. “Stupid crazy giantess,” he mutters under his breath. Her haircut is hideous. Eren has always wanted to ask if she puts a bowl on her head to trim it. 

   “Didn’t get that,” she says, maintaining her slackened stance. She used to fawn over him. The last time they met, she respected him. She squealed. Cheered while her eyes widened and face beamed as though she were speaking to a god himself. 

   “I said you’re a crazy bitch.” Eren grits his teeth and approaches. He’s hot, sweating, wearing a fucking coat with a hood. Hiding. Sneaking. But he allows it to unfurl around himself. He’ll appear larger. 

   Planting himself against the shed next to her with as much laziness as he can muster, he raises a brow like Levi does. She might be taller than him, though he’s not intimidated. He could bite her in half without shifting if he wanted. “We weren’t supposed to meet again. Did you hear from Zeke?”

   She looks up, steepling her fingers with that quiet air about her that makes a shiver fight to run up his back. Eren doesn’t allow it. “No, but I wanted to talk to you about … Levi.”

   Eren’s blood runs hot while his skin goes cold. “What about him?”

   “You spend a lot of time with him,” she says, “I’ve seen you two in town, you look quite comfortable together.”

   “And what of it?” he asks, crossing his arms. “I’m his friend and his charge, or did you forget that, smartypants?”

   She scratches her nose and snickers. “It looks like it’s more than that.”

   “It’s not your business,” Eren says. He and Levi aren’t a secret. They may not be like other pairs, and their physical relationship might not be like Mikasa and Jean’s or Connie and Sasha’s. They might not hold hands unless they are absolutely alone, but this—them—isn’t new. Trying to explain it doesn’t matter now anyway.

   “Please, Eren, don’t be angry with me.” She expels a deep breath and kicks off the shed, then paces. “It’s only … you can’t tell him.”

   “Are you touched!” Eren’s voice rises as his pulse begins to race. The tingle shoots unchecked up his spine and runs down his arms. It settles in his clenching and unclenching fists. “I didn’t tell him shit.”

   “You tell him everything. I’ve heard the others talk.” She squares her shoulders and Eren squares his right back. “He’s protective of you, but it risks the plan if he tags along or goes running to Hanji.” Her features harden. “If they come to aid you, he’ll play a very important part.”

   Jaw working, Eren envisions squashing her between his fingers. He knows she’s only doing what she thinks is right. It’s what everyone’s doing in this mess—but still. “‘Risks the plan?’” he snarls, eyes narrowing as he steps into her space. “You’re the moron who risked it for this meeting.” 

   “Don’t get upset, Eren,” she says, blinking, “I just need to know you’re still on board and you aren’t deviating. That we still have the same goals. To free Eldia and defeat Marley … however we have to.” She reaches her hand toward him, but Eren swats it away. 

   “Don’t touch me,” Eren says. “Nothing’s changed.”

   Her brow softens, eyes glinting with a glimmer between starstruck awe and psychotic impulse as her mouth twists into a disturbingly placating smile, then plants herself back against the shed so casually Eren wants to throttle her. “We won’t meet like this again then.”

   “Then fuck off for now.”

   “Done.” She puts her hands up. “But don’t forget, you leave in a few days.”

   “How could I?” he grinds out despite the tear in his heart.

   “Have a good night, Eren.”

   “Sure,” he grumbles and walks away.

 

Hands knotted, Eren rounds the corner of the shed in the direction of the barracks, and tugs off his sweltering jacket with fingers he’s scarcely able to straighten. The urge to hasten his steps is unbearable. As though he were resisting a giant invisible finger poking at his back. He wants to wrap his arms around himself, but he takes ordinary, measured steps in case Yelena is watching. 

    _Don’t forget, you leave in a few days …_

   His stomach riles until bile is burning his tongue. He winces and swallows it down. 

   If he can just make it over the next hill, he can escape. Red and black and white and that color anguish is that he doesn’t know the name for are filling him; rising, stabbing, pummeling. It has to get out. 

   His toes flex in his boots. A burning flood is about to flay him from the inside until he’s two bloody halves of himself, rent and steaming and dying on the shadowed green grass. Unfortunately for Eren, it probably wouldn’t kill him. Maybe he’d even grow back into two, just like the aberrant freak he is. 

   When he sees the door to one of the outlying garners, he snaps his head around. She isn’t following. His feet speed pace, beating-flying-stuttering across the ground. As soon his fingers are around the door handle, his stinging eyes release hot trails of ache down his cheeks. He can feel the scars cracking the skin beneath his eyes, striving to expose him and tell the world of all his secret wounds. 

   Eren stumbles over the threshold as he thrusts himself through the entrance and into the silence. Losing his balance, he allows himself to trip and skid across the draff-bestrewn floor.

   He scrapes his cheek. He scrapes his hands. His knees abrade against his britches. 

   He coughs as he comes to a stop on his side.

   His chest is going to explode. His head is going to burst. 

   He digs his fingers into his hair and pulls. 

   Eren didn’t need Yelena to say it. He already knew. He can’t tell Levi, and now—ineloquent as it was—his explanation, an impression of his heart is gone. Left as dusty ashes laying in the stove in quarters.

   “Please,” he whimpers, clenching his jaw, preventing his plea from becoming a scream. “No, no …  Please don’t.”

   Fighting his sobs and nausea swelling in his gut, Eren curls in on himself, knees to his chest, fingers yanking at his hair like a contorted and monstrous fetus. There’s a chasm in his head cracking it open, the pressure and pain hurt so much he fears his eyes will pop out.

   It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He wasn’t supposed to cry anymore, but now he’s lying on the chaff-littered floor of a storage shed, straining against the pain in his throat while it battles to force him to wail.

   “No …” he whispers, voice thick and wet. “No …” he whispers again. He wants to holler it. 

   Perhaps if he did, it would heed his orders, and he’d be able to stop it. _Useless,_ Eren thinks. He’s so weak and useless as he surrenders and the tears cascade and the vomit rushes out with a convulsion; hot and acidic, corroding and burning his insides and mouth.

   Sputtering and sobbing, his fingers scrabble at the dirt as he clambers to his weakened knees and rocks. He can see the wadded note sitting among the twisted paintish puddle of blood and his dinner and Levi’s chess biscuits. He closes his eyes against it, migraine pain increasing, paralyzing, and stretched beyond the horizon of excruciating. Eren thought he could do this. He’s the only one who can. Stupidly, he believed he could bind his heart with chains and lock it away somewhere even he wouldn’t be able to find it. 

   He bites the inside of his lip until his teeth meet. 

   It hurts. Everything hurts, and he most wholly deserves it. His right hand is clawing at his forehead—at his flesh, though it is not the heat of his skin he feels, but the dying squirm of children’s bodies smashed beneath it. Smeared like insects. The sensations skate across him, slithering as though a sinister film. The taille of dead younglings, dead women, dead men, and dead innocents drenching him, lustrating him in the detritus of genocidal gloss.  

   “No … no … no … I can’t …” His percussing veins are alight and throbbing with his torment. 

   Curling his fingers, Eren chokes. He promised Levi he wouldn’t do this, but the intensity of the pain is total, and the souls are going to shoot through his head and pulverize the crown of his skull. 

   The first strike meets his left eye, so hard his teeth seem to rattle in his head. The agony is still like a scorching blade, and so, he does it again, and again, and again, and again until he loses count of the punches. 

   Bludgeoning himself, purposeful and determined, he moves to the sides of his head where Levi won’t see the bruises and bumps in the event he can’t heal by morning. He can grow back his leg in under half a minutes these days, but it’s always harder when he’s so beside himself.

   He promised … “Levi … Levi …” he cries, “I’m sorry,” he blubbers as he falters, submitting fully to the urge to harm, tearing at his forearms with his nails, gouging and scraping and cutting and holding back his screams until he’s steaming and dripping and crimson. Still, the pain sears. In his heart, in his head.

   It hurts all the way to the tips of the hair rising on his neck. It hurts beyond his body like a cloud enveloping him. He bites at his hand, ripping and tearing, bits of flesh sticking like threads of chicken between his teeth. It reminds him of Stohess, of the well. Of determinedly chomping, trying to shift. He laughs at himself, at that stupid little boy who never could, but desperately tried to be Hope. 

   Nails raking the sides of his face, his neck, his chest, he tries to scratch himself off, to peel the defective miserable facets of Eren away. His hand meets his pocket. Something shifts, hard and tangible and cosseted in the dark canvas of his trousers.

   Sniffling, Eren bites his lip. His eyes are steaming so thoroughly he can’t see, but he retrieves the object, the weight of it in his palm sending a current of sorrow through him anew. Eren drags in a shaky breath, deep and as cleansing as huffing in soot. His slippery fingers tighten around his jackknife. 

   Levi. He must protect Levi. He has to save his family, his friends, and everyone else. 

   Chin quivering, panting through the phlegm, Eren stares at his hands. One is empty of all but wounds and steaming blood, the other clutches a sacred gift. He runs his thumb over its rosewood handle, wiping away the snot and the blood from his nose with the back of his wrist as he tries to swallow around the grieving clench in his heart. Falling back on his arse, Eren pulls his knees up to his chin, wraps his arm around his legs, and brings the jackknife close to his face. He can still barely see, but he can feel the cool metal blade folded within the engraved wood as it touches his lips. 

   Just a few more minutes of sniveling. Just a few more minutes and Eren will be fine. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine …” 

   He closes his watery eyes and tries to make himself heal. He can’t allow anyone to see him like this. His dark pants hide any drops of blood, and he can pull his sleeves down and throw on his jacket, but his face must look like shit. He scrunches it. Winces. He’s broken his own nose, maybe fractured the socket of his left eye. He’s not even sure he can open it all the way. 

   “I’ll be fine.” Eren pets his head, trying to do it the same way Levi does. Trying to imagine it’s Levi soothing him, he runs his fingers through his hair. They’re too big and too long to feel like Levi’s. “I—I’m okay. It’s okay …” 

   Rocking, he wishes his healing around. His nose, his eyes, his shredded forearms, his gnawed left hand. He rocks on his knees, steam enveloping him. “Just a little more.”

   He thinks of Levi. Of chess and tea and winter hot cocoa. He thinks of Levi’s tiny smile he only gives him. Of his strong arms around him and his gentle breath on his neck. Then his grin; the one Eren loves, but can tell Levi hates. His family. His friends. Armin and Mikasa when they were kids; their jokes and smiles at the stables, and back to Levi again.

   When the wounds on his arms have faded to satiny, pink scars and the steaming in his eyes has ceased, he inhales an unsteady, yet deep breath and battles to fortify himself. His chest still hurts, his head is pounding, and his vision is blurred, but he fights his way to his feet, standing on shaky legs and wobbly knees. “Fuck … fucking, fuck.”

   Eren brushes the dirt off his pants and picks up his jacket. He’s not all right, but the tears have settled into sniffles and a gritty constriction in his throat. Some of the blood is drying, and he’s swathed in filth and puke. He needs a drink of water. He needs to discard these clothes. He needs to wash. 

   And for once, his lonely bed doesn’t sound all that bad. 

 

Eren is as quiet as he can be when he returns to HQ. Stepping softly, he turns into his corridor, tiptoeing past Levi’s quarters next door to his own, and as gingerly as possible unlocks his door and slips inside. 

   He doesn’t light the lantern, but scrubs his hands over his face, ignoring his empty bed, and stumbles to the bathroom. The illumination of the nearly full moon trickling through the window is enough to see the damage when Eren raises his head and peers at his reflection. 

   “Shit,” he mutters. The scars run fissure-like under his eyes, set off by the deep bruising around the left. His eyes, though not as blood-shot as he expected, are rimmed red and swollen, and his hair is a tangled mess. He looks at his shaking hands hovering above the basin. Though most of the blood has steamed away, dry remnants remain, and his nails are caked with dirt. 

   Retrieving his scrub brush, he turns on the tap, plugs the drain, and begins the tedious task of washing away the grime. After he’s finished, he combs his hair, rinses his face, brushes his teeth, then peels off his blood-begrimed clothes, puts them in the hamper, and uses a flannel to clean his skin. 

   Down to his drawers, he glares at his lumpy pillow and strides toward his bed. Tripping on all things—his slippers, he knocks violently into his bedside table. The cup of water placed upon it plummets and then crashes, scattering into serrated fractals across the floor. “Fuck!” he hisses. 

   Eren glares at shards of glass intermixed with the shiny puddle. Exhausted, he shakes his head, then flops onto his bed, and crawls under his covers. The room is too dark and too light at the same time, and his sheets rasp against his healing flesh like sandpaper. Nothing is adorning his walls but the knots in the wood, which seem to glare at him, and it smells like loneliness. He purses his lips, slams his eyes shut, and turns over. 

   He’s not going to cry again. 

   His bed squeaks as he tosses from the right to the left and back again. Window on his right, door to his left. 

   It’s near the tenth time he’s done this when a knock comes, soft but purposeful at his door. The volume is a question, the pace conveys fret. Levi’s knock. 

   Eren twists his fingers in the hem of his sheet. If he doesn’t answer, Levi will go back to his room and never say a word about it, but Eren doesn’t want him to go away. Not because he knows if Levi does, he will stay up for the night in his chair by the flameless hearth drinking Gunpowder. And it’s not because Eren is ashamed. He is, but that feeling is not as strong as visions of small, slender fingers rubbing his palm, the remembered feel of a heated heartbeat at his back, nor is it as strong as the persistent want of a voice. Deep and whispered, caressing his ear and his neck and his cheek. 

   He thrusts himself to his feet, careful of the glass on the floor, and opens his door. 

   Levi doesn’t say anything. He never does. He appraises him and closes his eyes with a slow blink before he slips inside, leading Eren to the side of the bed, where he pushes him to sit and then crouches between his trembling knees. 

   Immediately, Eren is upon Levi, throwing his arms around his shoulders, and Levi embraces him in return. 

   Sometimes, between Eren and Levi, there is a tall, strong tree they wrap themselves around. It’s ancient and stout, and its bark is rough, yet it doesn’t grate. And sometimes there is air between them, charged and crackling with razor-thin streams of blue-yellow static. It holds them together like magnets. In moments like these, there is an untouched lake. Glossy and reflective, like the surface of an undisturbed cup of tea. It is delicate, and until it passes, neither of them dare break the fragility of its hallowed veneer.

   It is why Levi doesn’t speak. Why his fingers comb Eren’s hair while his left hand rubs circles over his back as Eren breaths against his shoulder’s bare skin. 

   This time, tears don’t slip down Eren’s rutted cheeks. He only gulps air and clings and lives at home in the moment in Levi’s arms where it’s beautiful, warmly dark, and safe.

   Eren will miss all of this.

   When he finds the strength to pull away, Eren stretches and plants his palms on his knees. He’s hunched over. Eye-level with Levi, but he looks at the floor, examining brilliant splinters of glass. White and glinting like stars, and then he sees red.

   “You’re bleeding,” Eren says, voice hoarse, fingers stretching toward Levi’s foot.

   Levi follows his gaze down and touches his big toe. “Tch, it’s nothing.”

   “In the bathroom … I have bandages.” Eren pulls a handkerchief from his nightstand drawer and hands it to Levi. He makes to stand up. “Be right back.”

   “You need tea,” Levi says, clasping cool fingers around his arm. They share a look before he dabs at the blood. “Then I’ll take care of it.”

   “I can do it,” Eren says, wondering if Levi feels burdened by him. “I’m sorry …”    

   A line carves between Levi’s eyebrows. It’s his cautiously-curious-fretting frown. _What happened?_

   “It was too much.” Eren shakes his head. His heart twists. He could tell himself it’s not a lie. 

   “Mm.” Levi nods and nips his lip while he holds Eren’s gaze.   

   He wonders if, behind his eyes, Levi says, _how dare you hurt yourself,_ _you scared me, why didn’t you come to me, I love you._ He wonders if Levi ever thinks, _Eren, I don’t want you to die._

   If Levi has these sentiments, Eren knows he must have a good reason for not saying them. Still, curiosity sometimes seeps to the surface in cracked little moments like these. Eren takes a breath. He can smell Levi. Kind, strong, beautiful, perfectly broken Levi who he probably disappointed. “I said I wouldn’t do it again.”

   Levi’s fingers trace a healing scar on Eren’s forearm. A wisp of vapor rises before his face. He closes his eyes, takes a small breath, and opens them again. Maybe he looks a bit wounded as his voice falls to a whisper. “You kicked your own arse enough.”

   “But—”

   “I won’t do it for you,” Levi says, standing, and Eren stares at his navel as though he might find a proper response there or it could tell him how to ask for what he needs. 

   “You’re not mad?” Eren asks after a moment, looking at hip bones he can scarcely stop himself from reaching to touch, wanting to ask Levi to take away all his pain in ways Levi has never before taken it away. He thrusts the tips of his fingers under his thighs, then ducks his head and stares at the bedpost. It’s too late for that now. “I promised.”

   “I didn’t make you,” Levi says with a gently scolding glance before moving to the kitchenette. He opens the tea cabinet. “I won’t force you to make me promises.”

   Eren rubs his shoulder and readjusts on his squeaky bed, watching Levi retrieve the teapot. He fists his hands in his quilt and flops on his back, growling in a whisper. Levi won’t berate him. And he doesn’t yell at him or find another way to punish him as he scuttles around the kitchen. He isn’t touching Eren how he wants either, and Eren can’t and won’t ask. He feels like he’s nine or ten again. On the verge of a kicking his legs and hollering.

   He groans. “Can we have it in your room? I don’t want to be in here.”

   He thinks maybe Levi won’t want him there after what he’s done, but Levi hoists the caddy of herbal tea in his left hand and nods. “I’m out of Chamomile.”

   “I don’t want Chamomile,” Eren says, crossing his arms, despite his awareness Levi always knows what is best. “I want Oolong.”

   “Tough titty,” Levi says, striding to Eren’s bureau, tugging out tomorrow’s clothes and an extra pair of drawers. “You need a shower.”

   “I washed up.” Eren knows he’s practically whining while he glances between Levi and the ceiling that doesn’t seem as dark as it did before.

   “It’s not for your body, nitwit,” Levi says, “it’s for your fucking head.”

   

Later, in Levi’s kitchen, Levi doesn’t poke Eren about why or how. He doesn’t ask what was too much and he doesn’t force him to speak. Instead, he wraps his legs around Eren’s under the table as they watch the flame dance in the lantern while sipping Chamomile. After that, he runs Eren a steamy shower and then combs his hair and massages his shoulders.

  When they lie in Levi’s bed, he doesn’t ask either, only waits, open if Eren wants to explain, rubbing the fading scars on Eren’s right arm while he holds him tighter than most nights.

   Eren will take all the comfort Levi offers. He’ll bask in it, fight sleep, force his eyelids open, watch the dancing leaf-shadows brought by the breeze through the window across Levi’s pale arms. 

 _Just one more night being weak like this,_ Eren tells himself. One more night of fragility in Levi’s impregnable arms. 

   “I’m sorry I was a brat,” Eren says, speaking against Levi’s arm where it’s settled under his chin against his chest. They fit so well like this, and Levi smells like the quintessence of what Eren thinks of as male. Light, like his skin, absorbed the jasmine from the breeze, overlayed with his musky summer sleep sweat beneath it, and tea and leather and that herbal balm he puts on his face after shaving too. He smells like soft strength. Eren can feel the wispy-silky hair on Levi’s arm and taste Levi when he shifts to take a breath and wets his lips. 

   “This doesn’t make you a brat.” Levi’s fingers brush over one of the healing knots above his ear. “But hurting yourself doesn’t help, does it?”

   Eren’s face contorts with guilt Levi can’t see. “I was talking about the tea.”

   “Tch.” Levi's lips are on Eren’s nape when he speaks. He brushes them back and forth, as always without puckering them into an ordinary kiss. It’s special between them. What Eren calls a Levi-kiss. This might be the last one he ever gets. “No one’s better at choosing tea than me.”

   Levi’s trying to make him laugh—or maybe not. Sometimes Eren isn’t sure if Levi does it without realizing it or if there’s calculation. Perhaps sometimes there is, and sometimes there isn’t. 

   It’s warm, but Eren yanks the sheet to his chin and squirms closer, tugging Levi’s leg farther over him where it’s draped across his thigh. Even in the summer, he puts his cold little feet against Eren’s legs. “I thought I was going to break in half …”

   Stroking Eren’s hair from his forehead, Levi rests his chin on Eren’s shoulder. “Migraine?” he asks in an unusually supplicating voice.

   Eren knows Levi is peering at him. “That came after,” he says. He draws little circles on Levi’s sheet. It’s so silky. It feels like Levi’s hair, but not as perfect. 

   “Eren, if—” Levi’s frown is in his voice. “Should I get Hanji?”

   “No.” He’s so stiff, stiffening still. Enough that Levi’s arms slacken a hair. Like perhaps he’s worried he’s holding him too tight. Eren softens his voice. “No, no. I’m all right now.” He shrugs. “It’s nothing new.” It’s not really a lie.  

   “For now we won’t.” Levi’s tracing his fingertips up and down Eren’s chest. Over his heart. It feels like it is trying to reach out, and Eren wants to reach out too. 

   Eren sighs as quiet as he is able. “I’ll try harder,” he says, pulling on Levi’s arms, so as they were before, they’re tight and surrounding and absolute. So he doesn’t slip onto his other side and do something foolish like beg Levi to kiss him or fuck it all away. 

   So Eren doesn’t snuff out the one light he has in the breadth of his thick, dark misery.


	17. Last Day

It’s the cusp of autumn. 

   Tomorrow …  

   Eren has felt the season’s press since the month turned. 

   The green of the leaves has dulled from bright to deep and dying. No longer verdant and pastoral, but subdued and muted, as though every plant were trying to be sage. 

   The days grow shorter, the sun retires earlier and rises later. The air smells different. Crisper. As though he could detect the blustering winds of winter seeping into it. Eren thinks winter is sneaky and cunning, already dipping its fingers into this season. 

* * *

Eren has his last dinner with his friends, talks Hanji into making an appearance by bribing her with a tin of biscuits, and shares the last of his Sencha over dessert. It’s a surreal affair; stippled with laughing and cajoling and Eren grieving through a smiling façade, swept up in moment to moment before he realizes nothing is nearly as pure and beautiful as it seems to be. 

   During the newborn hours of the morning, Eren will wake in Levi’s bed for the last time until he returns, or perhaps ever.

   He’s spent most of his moments, and he’ll spend what he has left with Levi. 

   * * *

They sit under the willow, stomachs full, twilight looming, Eren picking at his teeth and his nails, staring east. Into the opposite of oblivion. Soon his eyes will turn another direction. To the west. 

   The dandelions are round and white; puffed as though miniature clouds. Their fluffy heads blown to carry on currents in the breeze to be reborn. A bit like himself, he thinks, though Eren won’t be here to see the last early autumn bloom of weeds. 

   “It’s cool tonight,” Levi says, head tilted back, peering through the branches. 

   “Yeah.” Eren follows his line of sight, idle fingers abandoning the knot of dandelion stems he’s created in his lap. 

   “Still early.”

   The days when the sun’s up during tea and chess have fled, though it still hangs in the sky, painting the horizon in waning pink-purple-orange like a child refusing to go to bed. Or the color of its death throes.

   “Around six?”

   Levi checks his pocket watch, snaps it shut, and stands. “Five-forty-three. Wanna go out with the gear?” he asks, leaning down to brush the back of Eren’s hand with his own.

   A stab passes through Eren’s heart.

   It is like Levi knows.

   They haven’t done this since late March when the snow dripped from the branches, and the wind was icy cool and carried the whispering promise of springtime. Before he agreed to the mission. 

   He digs up a grin, recalls chasing Levi through the trees, never catching him, always a few feet behind. His fingers reaching to tap the heel of Levi’s boot and brushing the wind between them instead. His heart falls to pieces. If he never returns, this memory will serve as a gift to Levi in his stead. 

   “Let’s go.”

* * *

It’s too warm for their cloaks. Too warm for the new gear and the leather uniforms which accompany it. They suit up over casual summer clothes and find their way to the clearing. The moon is already out. Small and almost hidden, its crescent surrounded by the light—almost not—but still daytime blue sky. It’s as though it’s come out early to watch, to witness Eren spend the last portions of his heart before he paralyzes it and hides it away. 

   Levi doesn’t wait for him. He takes an appraising sniff with his hands set on his hips before he meets Eren’s eyes over his shoulder, and flies. 

   “Too slow,” Eren hears from the canopy. 

   If Eren doesn’t go now, he’ll never have a chance of catching him. He fires his hooks, and after so long without using the gear, the jerk of his body sends his stomach reeling as it plummets. Eren laughs, for a moment feeling like an untested green soldier again. 

   Branches whip and swing in the breeze from Levi’s wake, pine needles fall, squirrels and birds scatter with contemptuous chatter, and Eren follows the disruption, hoping to capture what he never will. 

   “Should I let you catch up?” Levi’s a show-off tonight, flipping and spinning, diving above and beneath the boughs, speeding up, slowing down, turning and sailing backward, making taunting faces at Eren.

   “Almost there,” Eren shouts, closing five meters between them.

   Levi veers to the left, whirling sideways before he kicks off a stout pine. 

   “I let you get closer.”

   “Bullshit.” Eren looks for the path with the least vertical movement, maneuvering above Levi, then below when the branches become thick. “When I catch you, I swear …”

   “You’ll what?” 

   Eren has a lot of ideas. Nothing good would come of any of them. He swallows down the sentiments with a whine and tries to focus. “Don’t get so cocky.”

   “I could give you a handicap,” Levi calls, “I’ll use one arm. The left.”

   “Don’t you dare.”

   Eren narrows his eyes, concentrates, watches Levi sail through the forest, anticipating where he’ll plant his grapples next. He’s looking behind him, smirking with his you’ll-never-catch-me grin that shows all his teeth.

   They go in circles, Eren closing the distance between them enough, if he could dive, he would tackle Levi, before Levi turns sharply right or left. At one point as they reach the far edge of the clearing, Levi circles behind Eren, flies above him, and then shoots ahead. 

   Reaching out, Eren stretches, his hand within inches of catching the toe of Levi’s boot. His fingers close around nothing but the wind. 

   He groans as Levi leaves his orbit again. Not too far, but a near four meters away. He’s not pushing any more, going as fast as he can, but almost dancing through the crisp end of summer with a flourish. Diving and corkscrewing. Laughing, calling to Eren to hurry up. 

   Whatever has been thought of Eren, it should never be said he cannot handle the gear. There are others who are more adept. Levi obviously. Mikasa. Perhaps Jean. But Eren graduated in the top ten of the 104th. He found his balance despite being equipped with a malfunctioning piece of gear. And after graduation, he had the best teacher.

   He grits his teeth, studies Levi as he bounds around the edges of the clearing. Right, right, left, right, right. He anticipates, ducking low, meeting Levi’s left with a right, stretches and pushes, feeling like he’s climbing air as his hand reaches out, the tips of his fingers brushing the tread of Levi’s boot. 

   “Got you!”

   Levi laughs, wheezing and free and sounding so unlike himself. Unbridaled, relaxed, and uninhibited without the worries that—Maria forbid—someone hears him giggling as they pass through the hall outside his quarter’s door. 

   “So you did,” Levi says, smirking. He propels himself above Eren, somersaults, and lands with a grace which still seems beyond human, in the center of the clearing. 

   Eren touches ground beside him, mesmerized by his smile and his chest moving with heaving breath, the touch of rose to his cheeks, his tousled hair. 

   If circumstances were different, Eren would wind his arms around Levi, and try and kiss him right there. 

* * *

Their forgotten gear lies below the same tree Eren and Hanji rest under during training. Cast against the roots, hidden beneath the day’s last shadows. 

   Levi is sprawled on his back in the grass staring at the starry sky, one arm behind his head, the other is poking Eren in the ribs as he lies beside him. 

   “Hey, Levi,” Eren asks.

   “Hm?”

   “What are you looking at?”

   Levi shrugs. “Just a couple stars.”

   Wetting his lips, Eren scans the sprinkled sky, trying to pin his gaze to the same spot Levi’s is pinned to. If he looks hard enough, maybe he’ll see what Levi sees. Levi’s probably going to call him an idiot. “Which ones?”

   “Why?” Eren can hear the frown in Levi’s voice, but he points a small, slender finger at the sky and takes a breath, moving his head closer to Eren’s. “Look for that one over there. East. It’s a little bigger, and it twinkles.”

   Squinting his eyes, Eren follows Levi’s finger. “The brighter one?” 

   “Mhm. Above September’s constellation.”

   “I think I see it,” Eren says, “the one that has the smaller one near it?” 

   “Yeah,” Levi says, 

   “Those two are kind of alone.”

   “They are.”

   “They’re pretty though.” Eren’s fingers twist in the grass. “Do you always look at them?”

   “I guess I do.”

   Perhaps, when Eren’s away, if he looks to the sky, he and Levi will be looking at the same place at the same time. “Oh …” He sighs, watches his breath cloud the silence.

   “Hey?” From the corner of his eye, Eren notices Levi turn his head, observing him. He frowns and kicks Eren’s ankle.

   “Hmm?”

   “What’s eating you?” Levi pokes his ribs again. “You won tonight, but you look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

   “Just …” Ripping up the grass and weeds have become a comforting habit for his frustrations over the last few months. He pulls at the blades, soil pressing under his nails, soft reeds coming free in his hands, the stiffer blades carving thin ruts in the skin between his fingers until he can feel steam. “Summer’s over … almost.”

   Turning on his side, Levi faces him. He examines Eren tugging at the bits of grass still clenched in his hand. “You always get this way,” he says, “but it will be summer again.”

   Any other year, this would be assurance enough. A comfort. Even Levi’s kind expression would be akin to being wrapped in a blanket or his arms. He would think of winter-Levi in his evening chess jumper and his hat and scarf, and toastier winter Oolong, and hot cocoa with cinnamon and salt. “It’s already cooler.”

   “Yeah.” Levi shrugs. “By the time we get back, it might be cool enough for a fire.” 

   “A small one … maybe.” 

   The breeze has kicked up, rustling the high branches and leaves. It hasn’t reached the ground in the clearing yet. As though the winds were still descending, still resisted by protective canopies. Levi narrows his eyes, watching the crowns bend, quiet and chewing his lip, mirroring Eren’s own anxious gesture.

   He pokes Eren ribs again, pushes him, looking playfully threatening. He smiles. Rips out his own handful of grass and throws it in Eren’s face.

   “Grouch.” Levi’s smile grows fuller, and it’s so rare Levi looks like this that Eren tries to save it like a photograph in his mind. 

   “What are you, twelve?”

   Eren’s chest swells, and he lets himself go, releases his burdens under the darkening sky, giving over to Levi, and letting him yank him from his quiet misery and grief. He grins and throws a handful back. Bits of green land in Levi’s hair, on his shoulders, slip down his face like raindrops. 

   “Maybe …”

   They stare at each other, Levi’s eyebrows arching, lips curling. There’s a bubble of forced laughter from Eren through the dregs of leaden brooding. It explodes in his chest in a fit of snickering before Levi descends, shoving grass down his collar, wrestling with him, snatching at his hands, twisting them side to side.

   “That fucking tickles!” Eren attempts to roll, but Levi is like a tiny boulder which weighs much more than it appears.

   He perches astride him, pinning Eren in place, grasping both of Eren’s wrists in his left hand, looking mischievous as he stuffs more grass and weeds and bits of clover down Eren’s shirt. The back of his hand brushes against Eren’s neck, his jaw, his chin. 

   Levi’s eyebrow arches. “Forgot to shave today?”

   “Yeah.” Eren bites his lip, trying to think of a reasonable excuse. He didn’t expect Levi would notice. 

   “Tired.” Levi’s grip on the neck of Eren’s shirt loosens as he leans closer, inspecting Eren’s face. Eren knows he’s not looking at the measly fuzz on his chin. “Sleep okay last night?” he asks.

   As good as he could in Levi’s arms given the situation. Given their waning time together.

   “I was rushing.” He plasters on another smile. 

   “Hmm.” Levi’s so close, hovering, watching him, his eyes doing that thing again where they bounce between Eren’s lips and eyes. 

   He would give himself over and take everything Levi would gift to him right now if he could. He rips out a handful of grass, ready to stuff it down Levi’s collar and break the spell. He prepares to stomp his own heart and Levi’s to a pulp, allowing himself one last look into softened steely grey eyes, so those too will be branded into his memory. Just like this. So he remembers what he’ll come home to.

   Taking a deep breath, grass handful at the ready, Eren blinks and silently makes a vow to Levi he can’t dare speak; _You can have the rest of me when I come home,_ he thinks as Levi stares down at him.

_Not yet._

_It wouldn’t be right. I have to keep you safe._


	18. Goodbye

They leave the clearing and trace their way along the forest path. Past the willow hill, the stables, heels clicking over the cobbled paths winding through HQ, up the stairs of their building, and along the corridors until they arrive in Levi’s room. 

   Eren feels as though he’s floated along beside Levi, tethered, the scenery familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. It’s like he doesn’t belong here anymore.

   “The Silver Needle?” Levi says, putting the kettle on, glancing over his shoulder with a smile which looks like it requires more effort than a smile ever should.

   Eren nods and rubs his hands over his arms. “It’s freezing.” Since when has a chill bothered him? Between them, Levi’s usually the one to complain about the cold.

   “A fire too then.” 

   “I’ll take care of it.”

   Levi hums.

 

It might be the amount of tea Eren has consumed, but he goes from laughing one moment to staring without words out the window or at the flickering flames in Levi’s hearth the next. Levi’s looking at him strangely again too. Brow cocked while his eyes are crinkled and narrowed. 

  “You all right?” Levi asks.

   Eren frowns. Levi doesn’t ask careful questions in a quiet concerned voice. He spits flowers. Niceties and compassion covered in scowls and frowns and harsh queries of, “what the fuck is wrong with you,” “what’s your damn problem,” and “you look like you’re holding in a shit.” He doesn’t do this. 

   What should Eren say? Levi knows something is off, but Eren cannot tell him. He’s entertained the idea. Toyed with and juggled it while chewing on his cheek, wringing his hands, and closing his eyes against the hurt, but he’s always known he would tread out of HQ tonight on his own. 

   Eren sips his tea, mulling over excuses. He’s worn them all out over the summer. All he has left are reassurances and tads of truth. Levi won’t believe them, but they’re better than more concoctions. “I’m good. Missed the fire.”

   Levi’s leaning forward a touch, frowning his you’re-full-of-shit frown. Eren will miss it.

   “We’ll have more fire nights soon.”

   “I hope,” Eren whispers, “and hot chocolate and toasty tea.” 

   If everything goes according to Eren’s plan, by winter, he and Levi will be sitting before the flames laughing over chess. If Levi doesn’t hate him, that is. Then again, Eren would rather Levi live and hate him than die because the rest of the world attacks their home. 

   “The snow is shit.” 

   “It is,” Eren says, _but you look so beautiful in it._

   * * *

Eren will be the big spoon tonight. It will be easier not to wake Levi this way when he leaves his bed. During the lonely handful of hours when Levi actually sleeps and won’t stir from the slightest movement or noise. Eren’s learned over the years how to slip away quietly to the washroom without waking him. 

   He settles on his right side, lifting the quilt for Levi. Instead of giving him his back right away, Levi wraps his arms around Eren and presses his head up under Eren’s chin, and the linens fall over them like a curtain. 

   This may be the last night Eren sleeps in Levi’s bed. The last eve Eren will feel Levi’s warmth as his eyelids drift shut. There’s a thudding skip against Eren’s ribs. He’s not sure if it is panic or a sudden assuring fear of loss. 

   Levi still smells like grass and sweat and wind and quiet strength. Always so strong. 

   “Good last day of summer,” he whispers against Eren’s chest. 

   It’s an odd thing for Levi to say. Levi doesn’t usually make gentle observations regardless of how beautiful the day has been. For Levi, it’s probably been perfect, despite the curiously worried frown Eren saw craved above his brow fleetingly throughout the day. It was there while they spent hours in the stables with the horses and Valtari-Varúð before dinner with their friends, then softened, yet remained as they flew so fast Eren believed for a moment he could really be free. 

   And how free Levi was tonight. Smiling and laughing and shoving vegetation down Eren’s shirt whilst looking at him as though he were the most mesmerizing being he had ever seen. 

   Eren bites his lip to keep his chin from trembling, and strokes his fingers down Levi’s spine, rememorizing each little hill and valley he already knows. “I’ll always remember it.”

   Levi doesn’t say anything, but he nods, and there is the briefest twitch of a smile against Eren’s sternum, right over his heart, and Eren imagines Levi knows and were whispering to it.

   Fingers dig into Eren's lower back before Levi hums and turns, pressing himself close. His feet seek Eren’s shins, his hand rests over Eren’s when he places it against his chest, and Eren closes his eyes, thankful Levi can’t see the sorrow he knows must be evident on his face. 

   “Night,” Levi says, almost too quiet to catch. 

   Eren presses his lips to Levi’s nape. “Good night, Levi.” 

 * * *

It’s just past three in the morning when Eren stands at the edge of Levi’s bed, breath coming fast and deep, chest aching, eyes burning and steaming with his resistance to let his tears slip free.   

   What would they feel like if he allowed them to fall, he wonders? Would they make any difference? Levi will never see them. Maybe they are expected to be hot, as the writers and poets say, or perhaps, quite salty. They aren’t. They just drop, due to gravity to one's shoulder or chest. Perchance they stream, then land cold on one's collarbone, and sit, and chill. Or maybe Levi would wake in the morning, hand running over the sheet as he stretches, unknowingly caressing the last place Eren left his heartbreak. 

   Eren sniffs. He swallows. He watches Levi. He chokes on a sob. 

   It is like swallowing a blade. 

   Levi looks so peaceful. Most of the lines of worry, save one, etch in his brow. Eren shouldn’t touch, but what if this is his last chance. He reaches down, smoothing the crease, trying to soothe it away, to will his heart into Levi through it. 

   He’ll leave that part of himself here with Levi for safekeeping. The good part of himself. His heart. Levi will cherish it and keep it secure. Cossetted. And Eren will retrieve it next time they meet.

   Wiping his eyes of the moisture he can’t keep at bay, he grits his teeth.

   He cannot cry.

   Crouching, so he’s level with Levi’s sleeping face, Eren sucks in a breath. He brands Levi so deep into himself, he’ll never fade before he closes his eyes, and leans forward. 

   Eren’s never done this before. Perhaps Levi will know. Maybe he won’t. 

   He presses his lips against the smooth skin of Levi’s brow, whispers, “I’ll come back to you,” and seals his oath with a kiss.  

   Levi doesn’t stir but releases a small sigh as Eren backs away. 

   The last grain in the sandglass falls.

   Eren has to go.

 

   Eren holds his hands to the sides of Eurus and Vaka’s snouts. “Take care of each other …” He looks down, a moment of weak sentimentality constricting like fingers which are too warm and comforting. He raises his head. “Take care of _him_.”

   Vaka surges forward against the door of her stall, persistent, bothered, nuzzling Eren’s cheek. “I can’t take you, Vaka,” he pleads. He’s losing his nerve but brushes his fingers down her face in a parting stroke before his hand drops to his side. “Please … just look after him. This is a mission, okay.”

   Eurus stamps and snorts, Vaka makes a sound that reminds Eren of a whine, but she blinks her eyes at him, and Eren knows she understands. 

   This is his last stop. His boots are full of lead, his legs rubbery, his chest empty, eyes dry. 

   “Don’t forget,” he says, turning toward the door of the stable. Toward the dark sky that’s turned starless and grey. The crisp, almost autumn air hits him like too much weight. Trying to send him back toward warmth and light and love. 

   Pulling his coat tighter, he sniffs, looks across the night-covered green. He can just catch their swaying willow on the hill. 

   There’s a meow at his feet as he sets off, Valtari-Varúð, serpenting between his feet. Eren groans and looks down. “I have to go,” he whispers, crouching to scratching behind his ear. 

   Valtari-Varúð purrs. “I need you to do something too.”

   Big blue-green eyes blink at him.

   “Watch out for Levi and Hanji,” Eren says, as a furry face rubs at his hand. “They’ll need you.”

   Valtari-Varúð nips at his fingers and Eren scoops him up, giving him one final hug. 

   He sets him back on the ground after what feels like far too soon, gives him one last glance, and looks out past the wall. 

   “You be good, Varúð.”


	19. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I sped up the posting schedule, but honestly, I had to let the story go, and I couldn't fully do that until it was all out there. Another eight days of posting would be another eight days not moving on to my wip. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and sticking through this bittersweet ride, and for all the wonderful comments I've received so far. :D

Eren’s been here before. On the shore. Beyond the walls where generations of their forefathers dared not go. Dared not to dream of the inconceivable existence of the gargantuan blue brine. 

   The froth-capped waters stretch before him bathed in the dwindling light of cockshut. Enormous and raging, too vast and too deep to contemplate. 

   When he was last here, it was impossible to imagine what was across the sea. Then, it was ships Eren picked up and battered like toys, manned by an ill-defined enemy and a mistaken conception of freedom. His father’s books and the pummeling waves were an abstract portent, breathtakingly terrible, yet brimming with possibility and hope.

   Hope. 

   It is what Eren is against the surety of extinction.

   Eren swallows and tips up his chin. At a different time, it would be beautiful.

   With Levi, it might be beautiful.

   The distant light from a boat bobs and dips, cutting a glowing zigzag on the horizon like a lightning bug.

   The mask drops into place. They’re close.

   He reaches for his inner coat pocket, fingers finding the little box of Silver Needle. He presses a sharp corner against the pad of his finger. It’s not much. Just enough to get him through. 

   Perhaps more important than the fortifying infusions is the little pill tin.

   He grasps it and holds it in his palm. 

   Inside, there is a sliver of Levi’s soap. Cassis. Not enough to wash with, but enough for his scent.

   So Eren can pull it into his lungs and not forget it. A tiny chip of perfume to war against the fading.

   To remind Eren Levi isn’t a dream. 

   He looks toward the boat, its silhouette growing, moving closer. Predatory. 

   Then, squinting against the morning sunset, he looks back toward home.

   Toward Trost and the walls, toward his friends, his family, his abandoned heart. Toward Levi. 

   Drawing in a deep breath, he closes his eyes.

   “I'll see you soon.”


End file.
